The Price We Have To Pay
by BadWolfWhoWaited
Summary: It is time for us all to decide who we are... The time-2013. The Place-Paris. Eponine Thernardier, seventeen-year-old street urchin, is madly in love with the ever-oblivious Marius Pontmercy in a world where the poor are ignored and the rich spoiled. Then Marius falls in love and the beginnings of a rebellion start to stir... An Eponine Centric Brick-and-Musical modern AU.
1. I:Cold and Dark

**The Price We Have To Pay**

**An Eponine-Centric story set today combining the musical and the book to make one big vat of angst. **

**Canon romantic pairings. **

**Oh, and, obviously-I do not own.**

* * *

**PROLOGUE: Grief That Cannot be Spoken.**

There's a hat in the Pontmercy household.

Just a tattered black newsboy cap, dusty and stiff from years of disuse, stained in some places, fraying in others.

It stands on the hatstand, next to the school caps of the Pontmercy children, untouched and unsullied by tiny, sticky, grabbing fingers that rip and tear and accidentally destroy most of what they touch.

The hat has always been there, and will always be there. Neither Mr or Mrs Pontmercy do more than look at the hat, sometimes with sadness, sometimes with anger, sometimes with a wistful sort of longing that is even worse than when they're sad.

No one knows who it belonged too, or why it's there.

All they know is that the hat has always been there, and there it will stay.

And that maybe, when they're older, they'll find out why.

* * *

There is a leather jacket in Mr Pontmercy's closet.

It's a man's jacket, but it's a little too small for him, and far too big for Mrs Pontmercy.

It's black, with zips and buttons and pockets that still have things in them-string and paper and hairties. The leather is soft and supple, as if someone takes great care to look after it, but it's previous owner obviously did not take such pains-there are broken zips, fraying thread and the satin lining is thin and worn.

Mr Pontmercy always smiles sadly and says it's a loan, that one day, he'll give it back to who it belongs too.

Mrs Pontmercy says they're keeping it safe.

None of the children know why, but whenever they ask, they're always told 'it's a long story' and none of the children can convince their parents to tell them just WHAT the story is.

"It doesn't have a very happy ending" Mr Pontmercy said last time.

Instead, they're told a story of a brave Lord and his Knights and his Lady Warrior who fought for justice in the land.

That story always has a happy ending, with the Lord's friend marrying the fairest maiden in the land and the Knights all living for a long, long time, and never going on any dangerous adventures ever again.

Every time, the story is a little different, and the Pontmercy children end up forgetting their questions about the jacket.

The Jacket has always been there.

Like the hat, it always will be.

The Children will just have to wait for the day when they'll be old enough to hear a not-so-happy story, a story much more real than the fairytale that they're told when their parents

* * *

There's an pile of photos in a box under Mr and Mrs Pontmercy's bed.

The youngest Pontmercy daughter found it one day, when her parents were out and her babysitter was watching telly and she was supposed to be in bed, dreaming of wonderful, innocent, childlike things that she would tell her parents about in the morning...unless they slipped away in those minutes between waking and breakfast.

Tonight, however, the youngest daughter could not sleep.

So she crept into her parents room and looked in all the hidden nooks and crannies for something...interesting.

It was when her teddy rolled under the bed that she found it.

A box and a stack of photos that she looked through carefully.

Some where in colour, some where in black and white, some where of people and a few were of animals or places or things.

She recognised her Daddy from when he was younger-he looked like he did in his wedding photos-but she didn't know who the other's were.

Her eyes fell on a picture of a girl wearing the cap, the jacket wrapped around her tightly as she grinned up into the camera.

Little Nina Pontmercy carefully stacked up the photos again, and went back to bed.

Her parents, she admitted to herself, were right.

She didn't understand.

But maybe she would when she was older.

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE: Cold and Dark**

_Her name was Eponine. Her life was cold and dark yet she was unafraid..._

She was a shadow, slipping through the darkened alleys, melting into the walls behind her, sinking into the floor.

Invisible.

Unnoticeable.

Soundlessly she climbed the wall, hauling herself onto a ratty balcony with a practiced ease.

Dim lamplight glinted off silver as she took the lock picks out of her shoes and fiddled with the french doors.

A car drove past.

She crouched down, headlights skimming over her to reveal a thin, frightened face with pale skin, blue-grey eyes rimmed in thick black eye-liner and dark hair in two messy plaits, a dark cap on her head.

The car passed with the soft growl of an engine, the lights skimmed over her, and she was cloaked in blackness once more.

The street behind was, surprisingly, dark and quiet. This neighbourhood was often it's most active at night, with all those involved in vice and villainy using the cover of darkness to attend to their 'business'.

If it wasn't the dealers or the prostitutes or anyone else up to no good, it was the Police Force, with Inspector Javert at the helm, checking for any sort of suspicious behaviour that someone could be locked up for.

But the Police were, unfortunately, predictable, and long ago fell into a routine that most in the neighbourhood knew off by heart.

The Police would not come by tonight.

With a click, the doors opened, and carefully, quietly, the Jondrette girl slipped inside with the familiarality of one who repeated such actions often enough for them to be permanently imprinted on ones brain.

More a reflex than a concious thought.

She tripped on a bump in the ragged carpet, her hand flying out to the small stool at the wall, where several bottles of cheap wine rested.

All empty.

Her hand caught the corner of the table, saving her from a fall and (miraculously) leaving the bottles untouched.

Although it wouldn't have been such a loss, she wanted to be quiet, careful, a mere shadow as she moved throughout the flat.

Her mistake caused her brow to furrow and her mouth to curve down into a frown.

She was getting careless-it had been a long day.

She tip-toed through the lounge, past the bathroom, and noiselessly pushed open the door of the bedroom, noticing at once the empty bed.

Immediately, she fell onto the king-sized mattress, sighing with pure contentment as it caved under her weight.

She lifted her head and peered into the darkness-the digital clock informed her with obnoxious red numbers that is was 12:42-before letting her head fall to the mattress again with a thump.

Before long, she was sleeping, sleeping deeply enough that she didn't notice when the door to the flat was opened and a young man walked into the bedroom, sighing exasperatedly as he noticed the intruder.

He pulled off the girl's high-heeled ankle boots and stripped her of her two-sizes-too-big leather jacket, hanging the jacket over a chair and leaving the boots by the door. Her trusty paper boy cap as placed reverently, with the utmost care, on top of his alarm clock.  
"You could've at LEAST taken your shoes off Ponine" He murmured fondly as he manoeuvred her head onto a pillow.

He would forever deny that he tucked errant strands of dark hair behind her ear, a smile crossing his face as her nose wrinkled adorably.

With a snuffle, her thin hands and bony fingers tightened their hold on the bedsheets, as if she was afraid they would somehow disappear while she slept.

With a sigh, the young man took two blankets out of his cupboard (making sure to drape one carefully over the little burglar before resigning himself to a night on the couch.

* * *

_Eponine took a final drag of her cigarette before dropping it to the ground, grinding the stub under the heel of her spiky boot. With a bored sigh she looked left, then right, before pausing to examine her black-painted nails._

_Her thick eye-liner was smudged under her eyes, mimicking the purple-grey shadows staining her skin. Her choppily-cut dark hair was in two ratty pigtail plaits, slightly greasy from not being washed since the previous morning. She was pale and thin-too thin-her cheekbones too prominent and her two-sizes-too-big leather jacket draping worryingly from skinny shoulders. With her ratty tank top, itty-bitty black shorts over torn fishnets, high-heeled ankle boots and shaking hands, she looked like your usual poor-man prostitute-tired, malnourished and probably on something. _

_Eponine though, was completely sober (minus the nicotine). Marius hadn't liked the drugs-he hadn't liked the withdrawals, the track marks and bruises, the dilated pupils and jerky movements._

_And what Marius wanted, Marius got._

_Eponine was now left with her only vice-smoking._

_She lit up another cigarette, a small smile crossing her lips as she imagined Marius's face when he saw her._

_A mixture of disgust, worry and fear as he ripped the 'cancer stick' from her mouth and ground it out under his foot.  
"Don't 'Ponine. It's not good for you" He'd beg, eyes so wide and innocent that dammit she'd give up that too. _

_Which is why, Eponine smiled sadly, Marius wouldn't find out about this last bad habit. _

_She needed something to dull the ache inside of her, and every puff of smoke brought her closer to the sweet numbness that she craved so dearly._

_A quick hand darted in front of her face and plucked the cig from between her still-smiling lips. _

_Eponine turned her head to the side and rolled her eyes.  
"What do you want, 'Parnasse?" She asked sharply, although there was the smallest gleam of good humour in her eyes. _

_She made a show of hating him, but everyone one in the Patron-Minette knew it was just that-a show._

_Eponine and Montparnasse were twisted. They were hateful and cutting and terrible for each other, bad influences, a wrong fit._

_Montparnasse got Eponine on drugs, Eponine dragged him into her father's gang._

_They knew that, even as friends, they'd only make the other worse. They were harsh and bitter and so very broken, too broken to have any sort of positive affect on the other._

_That didn't mean they would stay away though._

_As it turned out, when all was said and done, Montparnasse was the only one who really understood Eponine, who knew every dark bit of her she hid so desperately from the students, and Eponine was the only one who knew that Montparnasse as he truly was._

_In each other they found the sort of solace that one can only find with someone who knows all that you want to hide, and doesn't care._

_In looks, the pair could not be more different. Montparnasse was the honey to Eponine's coffee and cream-tanned skin, blonde hair, hazel eyes and white, white teeth. He was always dressed impeccably, a 'dandy' Eponine teased him, but his angelic good looks did not fool Eponine._

_He was no psychopath, no, but he could kill with a disturbing sort of ease that put Eponine on edge when she thought about it._

_She usually didn't think about it._

_Parnasse slouched against the wall beside her, Eponine's cig in between his teeth.  
"Your Dad told you to keep an eye out for the Police-not to stand here and take a smoking break" The older boy snorted. He took his knife out of his sleeve and began twirling it in his hands-blade, handle, blade, handle. _

_Eponine half-hoped he'd drop it and cut himself.  
"Nice tights by the way, very 'street walker chic'" He drawled. _

_Eponine glowered angrily at her semi-friend._

_She was about to overreact in an extreme way.  
She was tired and pissed and he'd stolen her cigarette and God knows she did NOT want to be out there helping her father rob some poor idiot stupid enough to trust them.  
"Go die in a hole you fucking bastard" She hissed, making to walk away.  
"Hey, Ponine-oi, Eponine, wait!" Montparnasse caught the crook of her elbow, whirling her around to face him once more._

_"Stop being so dramatic. It was just a joke!"  
That was the closest Montparnasse ever came to an apology. _

_Eponine wasn't going to accept it. _

"_You can watch from here, I'm going to go up to the corner and I'll text you if they pass by-agreed?" She said shortly, blue eyes blazing angrily. _

_There was a whole lot of somethings in Montparnasse's eyes, words that he wanted to say, things he wanted to express._

_Neither of them would be sorry. _

_Montparnasse was never sorry._

_Still, Eponine wanted to hear it-wanted to hear his voice sound out those words he wanted to say.  
Montparnasse sighed and ran a hand through his golden hair, nodding once. _

_Whatever he had wanted to say was lost somewhere between his brain and his lips, slipping away from him and into the void of 'never-said' that defined their twisted friendship that was more hate and mutual understanding than anything else._

_Eponine's heart ached with disappointment._

_She'd never admit it. _

_She'd never admit a lot of things.  
"Yeah, fine. Just-be careful" Montparnasse urged, not releasing her arm. _

_Eponine snorted and harshly ripped her elbow from his grasp._

_If he wasn't going to say anything, neither would she.  
"I know my way about Parnasse" She turned around once more, messy brown hair nearly whipping Montparnasse in the face as she walked to the corner and took up a position there, her phone out and at the ready, thumbs poised over the keys._

_She didn't look back-there was no point._

_Montparnasse would not be waiting for her, looking after her with all those unspoken words shining in his eyes._

"_Hey Ponine...'Ponine!" _

_Words Montparnasse had said only minutes ago, but while that voice had made her frown, this one made her smile._

_Eponine's entire body glowed with happiness as Marius jogged towards her, a goofy grin on his face as he waved wildly, trying to catch her attention. _

_Marius had, once upon a time, been her neighbour.  
Of course, her Father had tried to swindle him and he had moved to his friend Courfeyrac's apartment a year ago._

_They'd been friends for some years now, and, for the same number of years, Eponine had been quite madly in love with him. _

_Not that Marius noticed._

_He was a sweet, intelligent young man but he was, single-handedly, the most oblivious person in all of Paris._

_And that was saying something, because Eponine was friends with the core of the Amis, most of whom were so oblivious Eponine had no idea how they functioned in normal society._

"_I haven't seen you about lately, Where have you been?" Marius laughed, eyes lighting up with delight._

_Eponine pushed herself off the wall and linked her hands behind her back._

_Marius wouldn't want to see the yellow nicotine stains on her fingers._

_He'd probably smell the smoke on her, but she had a well rehearsed, much-used lie that always managed to misdirect him._

_He truly was the thickest person she knew, and she had no idea why she loved him._

_That was a lie-he was sweet and charming and ever so kind and he tried so hard to save her, to better her, to help her._

_No one cared enough to help her before she met Marius Pontmercy, and that first moment where he'd held out his hand and asked if he could help her home had sealed Eponine's fate._

_She would love that brilliantly stupid boy until the day she died, she would love him enough for the both of them and hope that one day he might love her back._

"_Around" Eponine answered evasively, teasingly. _

"_Be careful, mind the Police don't catch you 'around'" He warned with a small smile. He carefully juggled the books in his hand and shoved a coffee at Eponine.  
At Eponine's angry look, he attempted to hold up his hands defensively, but the books and his own coffee made it more than a little difficult.  
"Hey, you bought the last one-I'm paying a debt" He grinned. "I know you don't like charity" His eyes softened as he took in his friend, noticing the sad blue eyes and the dirty clothes. _

_Epoinine swiftly changed the subject, wanting to throw Marius's pitying gaze off of her.  
"So what's with all those books?" She asked, taking a step forward._

_Marius fell into step beside her, still juggling with his mess of papers and folders and textbooks with one hand, while the other kept a tight grip on his coffee._

"_I have class, 'Ponine" Marius laughed. Eponine rolled her eyes. _

"_Class, class...you and your precious 'class'...I could've gone to Uni" Marius shot her a funny look. _

_"Somehow I can't picture you as the Uni type" He said dryly. _

"_Hey! I finished High School...don't start judging a girl on what she looks like Mister" She wagged a finger in her friend's face, before taking a sip of her coffee. _

"_There's a lot of things I know" She tacked on the end, moving back as people milled around them._

_This part of the city was never too busy in the early mornings, but now, at eight, it was starting to pick up as the slums began to recover from whatever illicit activities they'd performed the night before._

"_The things you know aren't in these books, 'Ponine..." He murmured, more to himself than to her._

_There it was._

_Again._

_That damned pity._

_Eponine reached up a (still shaking) hand and ruffled Marius's dark hair, a grin on her face, trying once more to keep his thoughts away from her sorry situation and instead just on her.  
"I like the way you're doing your hair Mister Pontmercy" She flirted.  
Marius rolled her eyes and batted her hand away.  
"You're such a tease, 'Ponine" He grinned, completely distracted once more._

_Sometimes, Marius saw very little. Sometimes he knew even less._

_Sometimes, he chose to keep his eyes shut when he should have been asking if Eponine was ok, if she needed anything-a friend, a place to stay..._

_But he'd never ask._

_And, if Eponine was honest with herself, she kind of preferred it that way._

_Eponine's cheap Nokia buzzed in her pocket. A few nimble keystrokes, and a picture of an older man flooded her screen._

_Picture quality was poor, but she could make out a face._

_Her mother had even been kind enough to send a message._

Old Boy's Coming you way-stay on your job and watch for the law.

_It wasn't a 'be safe' of 'be careful', but Eponine was used to the lack of verbalised love from her mother, and the complete lack of anything from her father._

_A shadow crossed her screen, and Eponine skittered away, shielding her phone from Marius's grasp as he tried to look at the screen. _

"_Stay out of this Marius" Eponine danced back, keeping her phone close to her chest. _

_Marius, unfortunately, had already seen too much. _

"_Eponine-" He pleaded._

_Great. He wanted her to stay out of it._

_Well too late for that._

"_Look, it's not your concern, is it? You'll be in trouble if you get involved" She urged him to step back. Marius, instead, took a step forward.  
"Who was that man?" He pressed, taking a step towards Eponine. _

_Eponine stepped backwards again.  
"Does it really matter? For God's sake Marius, leave me alone!" She snapped._

_Marius recoiled slightly, and Eponine sighed. _

_Over his shoulder, Eponine caught sight of the man and a pretty girl walking her way.  
"'Ponine...Ponine, why do you have a picture of him?" He asked softly, sadly._

_Oh God, he was disappointed._

_Eponine could never handle a disappointed Marius. He was impossible to defy when he looked at her with those bright eyes, pleading with her to be better while saying nothing at all..._

_Eponine barelled past him.  
"Hey, Eponine!" He called, running after her._

_Eponine sharply turned, just in time to see him bump into the old man and the pretty blonde. _

_No, Eponine thought darkly. More than pretty._

_Truly beautiful._

_Well-dressed, well off, with a sunshine smile and golden hair, large blue-green eyes full of innocent joy and delight._

_A gold crucifix hung around her neck, a purse of full coins in her hand._

_A do-gooder, her and her father both. _

_Volunteers, Eponine dimly recalled, at the soup kitchen. She'd seen the old man once or twice, the girl only from a distance._

_Now that she saw her properly, she couldn't see how she hadn't noticed her before._

"_I-I'm sorry, I didn't see you-" The father (Eponine presumed) whisked the girl away, but not fast enough for Eponine to see the same look Marius had on his face mirrored on hers._

_Love._

_Eponine's heart beat once, twice._

_And stopped._

_Eponine bowed her head and strode as quickly as she could in the direction the man and his daughter had gone, fingers flying over her nokia as she texted her father. _

Coming your way.

_It only took a moment._

_An accident._

_A single glance._

_But Marius was in love, and there was nothing Eponine could do about it._

* * *

Eponine woke in the morning to the smell of french toast, a smile instantly spreading across her tired face.

She padded out on fishnet-stockinged feet to the kitchen, melting bonelessly into her chair and tucking her feet under her so she sat cross-legged, leaning her elbows on the table.

Marcell Grantaire fried the french toast in a way that made it look almost like it was second nature, looking over his shoulder at his much younger but equally screwed up friend.

Two or so years ago, this had been somewhat of a routine, crashing on Grantaire's bed and him making her breakfast.

Granted, it still happened pretty frequently now, but not as often as it had been back then.

Giving up the drugs had been, at first, tortuously difficult. Eponine would deny it always, but some days when she saw other lost kids shooting up in the back alleys, she felt an urge to seek out her dealer and find a syringe.

Withdrawal was a huge ball of not-fun tied packaged in chills, vomiting, trembling and mad, desperate cravings for more-more of anything.

It had been hard, and Grantaire would never forget seeing Eponine in a cocoon of blankets, her face pale but grim with determination as she pushed her way through her cold turkey.  
After all-What Marius Pontmercy wanted, Marius Pontmercy got.

And Marius Pontmercy had wanted Eponine off the heroin.

Grantaire's mind flashed back to the impossibly thin waif of a girl with mournful blue-grey eyes and purple bruises in the crook of her elbows, the shadows under her eyes nearly as purple as the track marks.

He looked over at Eponine now-stronger, with the slightest bit of meat on her bones. The shadows were smaller, the bruises gone.

Only silvery scars remained, rarely visible thanks to her ever-present jacket.

Now, instead of drugs, there were cigarettes. There were cigarettes and alcohol and the addictive ache of loving someone too pure for you, too good and noble, someone who will never love you back.

Grantaire took in her hands-The tips of Eponine's long, pale, nimble fingers were stained yellow with nicotine, her skin paper-pale, unhealthily so.

Everything about Eponine was unhealthy-the prominence of her ribcage, the gauntness of her face, the way her hib bones and shoulder blades jutted out under a covering of snow-white skin.

Still, she looked better-a lot better-than the skittish, heroin-addict girl of two years ago.

"Morning Ep" He kept his voice cheerful, light, placing a plate of French toast in front of her before sitting down himself.

Eponine ate with the ravenous hunger only one on the streets would understand, shoving the toast down her throat as though it would disappear when she glanced away.

Grantaire favoured her with a discreet, worried glance, before trying to force them back into their usual routine of snark and banter.

" Nice to see you semi-respectable. Last night you looked like a cheap trashy hooker" Grantaire said casually as he ran his finger around the rim of his coffee mug.

Eponine glared, although she knew it was true.

Tight, black shorts, revealing top, fishnet tights and high-heeled stripper boots...

It didn't help that her hair was choppy and her eyes were permanently rimmed with eyeliner, often smudgy.

Now though, her hair was clean and fluffy, still slightly damp from her shower. She'd donned a pair of crappy shorts she'd left at Grantaire's an age ago, and one of Grantaire's rattiest t-shirts.

Make-up gone and in clean clothes, she looked...

Better.

More herself.

"You're a dick, 'Taire" She shot back, taking a swig of the orange juice.

Obviously, Grantaire mused with a small smile, her clothes had no affect on her sterling personality. She spotted the whiskey on the counter, before her eyes slid to Grantaire's coffee mug.  
"Don't I get whiskey-laced coffee?" She asked, only half-joking.

Grantaire rose an eyebrow.  
"You're seventeen" He pointed out. Eponine snorted.

"And when has a tiny thing like legality ever stopped me before?" she asked mischievously.

She was laying it on thick, disguising the hurt, Grantaire could tell.

She'd tell him when she was good and ready, that much he knew.

First, she'd want to pretend for a little while longer that everything was fine, even when it wasn't.

Grantaire would give her that, a few minutes of normality before the walls came down.

Grantaire momentarily tossed her request for some coffee around in her head, before conceding that she made a fair point and realising he rarely stopped her before.

So he sighed wearily, and slid his mug over to her, wincing as she took a large swallow of the scalding coffee, smacking her lips in satisfaction before passing it back to Grantaire.

In the morning, clean and fresh-faced, smiling an innocent smile (Grantaire chose to ignore the pain in her eyes), she looked so much...younger, more vulnerable.

She stretched her arms above her head, the t-shirt slipping over her left shoulder to bare the skin there.

It was bruised.

Grantaire's eyes immediately slipped away again.

That was something Eponine would never tell him about, and Grantaire was almost glad for that.

If they both pretended it wasn't there, they could pretend that nothing of the sort had happened.

They could pretend that Eponine wasn't as desperate as she really was.

Grantaire waited patiently for her to begin talking-he never asked for her to tell him anything, whether she did or not was completely up to her, but Grantaire would listen to her rant and rave and occasionally sob, because she didn't need to be so strong around him.

They were both majorly screwed up in painfully similar ways, they didn't have to pretend they were ok.

Not with each other.

Eponine ran a shaking hand through her hair, obviously craving her new bad habit.

"So how's the Amis?" She asked. Grantaire humoured the girl, forcing himself to be cheerful even though his friend was so desperately sad.  
"Good. We missed you at the meeting yesterday...and Gavroche says 'hi" Eponine smiled slightly as she thought of the little brother she'd barely seen all week.

"Still causing havoc and mayhem?" She asked. Grantaire grinned in response.  
"You know it" They fell into a silence-not their usual comfortable silence, but an awkward silence as Grantaire waited and Eponine pondered, searching for the right thing to say.  
"Marius has a girl" She began lightly, fiddling with her fork.

Grantaire froze up. He let his eyes drift to the table, not able to stare Eponine in the eye.

"Well...not really. Not yet" Eponine put down her fork and let her hands fall to her lap and fiddle with the hem of her shirt, her eyes examining the grain of the wooden table.

"He asked me to find out where she lived last night-pretty thing, about my age. Blonde and perfect, very sweet. Your perfect little catholic girl. 'Obey thy father' and all that crap" Eponine snorted scornfully.

She'd given up on religion a while ago, when she realised that no benevolent God would listen to her heartbroken pleas every night and refuse to do anything about it.

Her tone was casual, but there was an underlying undercurrent of pain that was so subtle Grantaire could only just catch it.

"All it took was a look" A sharp inhale and a shakier exhale. Her voice was muffled-was she resting her head in her hands?  
"One fucking look-do people really fall in love like that? This isn't some fucking Shakespearean tragedy, it takes more than a fucking look too-" A sob interrupted her rant, Grantaire flinched as he raised his eyes to look at Eponine.

Her hands were back on the table-she couldn't keep still, her eyes now running along the line of her hands and the shape of her fingers.

She stayed like that for a while, able to feel Grantaire's gaze but not yet ready to meet it.

Finally, she did.

Eponine raised her head from her hands, looking at Grantaire, her icy eyes brimming with tears.  
"I can't do this any more 'Taire" She whispered. "Am-am I supposed to just sit back and...I was there all along!" Her eyes became wild as she clenched her fists so hard her knuckles became white.  
"I've been there this whole time, been there through everything, and some-some upper middle-class bitch just swoops in all pretty smiles and-and-" She earnestly cried then, unable to force the grief down any longer.

Grantaire reached across the table and took her hand.

It was an empty gesture, he knew, but there were no words that would comfort Eponine, no soothing touch that would brush the pain away.

Grantaire knew-he knew all too well.

But he was luckier.

Enjolras would never fall in love. No, the man's one true love was his Patria, his dream of what could be in the future.

Enjolras was Apollo-golden, perfect, unattainable.

So achingly unattainable.

But he was unattainable to everyone, whereas Marius was, obviously not so.

Where once Eponine had the better deal out of the pair, the hope that maybe Marius would one day glance her way, she now was far worse off.

"You-you get this unrequited shit 'Taire" She manage to say between violent sobs that were almost ripped from her body, sobs that shook her shoulders and had her whole body trembling.

Grantaire squeezed her hand tighter.

Grantaire and Eponine, in love with those too pure and far too good for their fucked-up, twisted selves. They were dark and warped in ways few could imagine, the shadows whereas Marius and Enjolras were their suns.

Yes, that was a way of looking at it-Marius and Enjolras were the suns they orbited around, basking in their light hungrily, feeding off their brilliance and all the things they'd never be.

They were caught up in the gravity, unable to escape, not entirely wanting too because if they didn't have that love driving them, what would they have left?

Suns-that was a fine way of putting it indeed.

"We're a fine pair, aren't we?" Grantaire murmured ruefully.

Eponine made a strangled sound that could have been either a laugh or a sob.

Grantaire couldn't tell, although he wondered if it may have been both.  
"Damn straight" She whispered.

They sat there for hours, Grantaire letting Eponine cry until she had no more tears left to shed, physically exhausted from the effort.

Then, Grantaire carried her into the lounge and they sat and watched bad TV, her head on his shoulder and her bony knees digging into his thigh as they curled up on the couch.

But Grantaire didn't mind.

Eponine was strong, so strong all the time, and sometimes she just needed to fall apart.

Grantaire couldn't fit the pieces back together, oh no. The pieces would never fit back together properly, the shards of Eponine might try to become what they once were, but there would always be cracks, faults.

Marius was the only one who could heal Eponine.

But Marius wasn't there.

He didn't care.

So Grantaire would gather up the scraps and tatters of a broken girl and keep them together.

Not whole, but together.

That would just have to be enough for now.

* * *

Somewhere, far away from the pair in the tiny flat, a young woman with a rare kind of beauty leant her chin on her hand as she stared out the window.

That boy...

A smile curved her lips as she remembered him, beautiful eyes lighting up with delight.

As she remembered the blue of his eyes, the dark colour of his hair, his shy smile, her heart skipped a handful of beats, fluttering inside her chest like a caged bird.

Cosette Fauchevelent was in love.

* * *

**Und here ends le first chapter.**

**Review, please? What am I doing right?  
What am I doing wrong?  
I could use some feedback.**

**Chapter two is written and chapter three is being begun, like, NOW, so tell me what you think.**

**Interested in how I see these people? Well, take a gander at my Profile-I have links XD**


	2. II: Saw Me There

**As always, I own nothing but...  
Well, nothing.**

**And the French Government I have painted in this story is not how the French Government really is, I know. For the purpose of this story, President Louis Roi (Roi translates to King) is frivolous tyrant, and the poor are plentiful and the country is failing. **

**This is fiction-remember that.**

**Also, this is most thoroughly un-betaed, so if you see any spelling mistakes, kindly point it out, I tend to miss things in editing...**

**That being said, ****Enjoy! XD**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO: Saw Me There**

_But he never saw me there..._

The Musain was a quaint little Cafe with a small, but loyal market that had been around for forever.

Well, since the mid 1800's.

But that was long enough, Jehan supposed.

And since the first stone was laid and the wooden door was carved, the same family had been running it, passing the business from father to son then from father to daughter and mother to child.

The Cafe had been a favourite haunt of Jehan's before it became the hub for Enjolras's society, so it was Jehan who coaxed the then-owner Colette Dubois into meeting in the hardly-used back room.

Colette had been a cheerful, round woman with rosy cheeks and happy eyes, greying hair twisted into a bun. Through the course of the day, the kitchen heat would tempt stray hairs into escaping the tight bun and little locks would end up framing her face.

You could tell just how busy the day had been by the state of Colette's hair.

"Anything for my best customer" Colette had giggled, before moving away to scrub a table clean, humming a jaunty tune underneath her breath.

Later that year, Colette was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis and could not leave her bed.

The eldest daughter, Victoire, had given up her dreams of travel and writing books to take over the family cafe.

While her mother was jolly, Victoire was serious and sharp-tongued, with too-high cheekbones and biting green eyes. They called her 'The Dragon, because she tolerated no nonsense and ruled the cafe with an iron fist.

But she had not always been that way.  
Once, Jehan dimly remembered, she was charming and lovely and joyful.

Happy.

Now, she was a harsh, stern, sober young woman, who might have been pretty if she did not always look so sour.

But she had much reason to look sour.

In the course of a year, her boyfriend had been killed and she was made to give up her dreams to become a novelist to run a pokey little cafe while her brothers and sisters made something of themselves.

Jehan sympathised with her greatly.

The girl lifted her sharp grey eyes as he entered the Cafe with the tinkling of a bell, striding towards the back room.

"Don't make a mess" Victoire warned, as she always did.

Jehan had long since begun taking this exchange as her way of saying 'hello'.

Jehan smiled a shy smile at her as the Dragon wiped down the tables.

"You've cut your hair, Ms. Dubois" Jehan said softly.

Victoire rose an eyebrow.  
"Yes. I have"

Thick, rusty-red hair that fell past her hips now rested between her shoulder blades, a side-fringe softening the harshness of her face and layers thickening the hair.  
"You look lovely" Jehan blushed, almost embarrassed to give such a compliment.  
A ghost of a smile played across the sour woman's face, and for a moment, she looked almost...pretty.

Like she would have if she had never lost most everything that was dear to her.  
"Thank you" Her voice had none of it's usual steel and ice-it was soft and gentle.

Wistful.

Jehan's heart glowed as he realised he'd made her smile, he'd made her happy, even if only for a second.

Jehan took pleasure in the simple joys of life, and making someone smile-especially such a person as Victoire Dubois-was one such simple joy.

But the smile faded, and, she went back to her scrubbing while Jehan continued to juggle his armfull of papers as he walked to the back room, a short verse writing itself in his head, fueled by the memory of that brief, soft smile.

Victoire was so tragic-a young woman, turned bitter and old by grief and disappointment.

A fitting muse for a poem. Such quiet strength, such a broken soul...

He would have to set that aside, for now. His next piece was to tell a tale through the point of view of something not living, not to write an ode to a tragic young woman trapped in a cafe of empty chairs and empty tables.

Oh, that was a good line, he would have to use that at some point...

Jehan sighed with relief as he let his books and papers spill onto a rickety table, melting into the chair with a groan.  
Everyday...ordinary...

He was the first to arrive, around him, the chairs and tables were empty of his usual company.

The verse began composing itself in his head.

_Empty Chairs at Empty tables_

_The-_

"Jehan!" Courfeyrac clamped a hand down on his friend's shoulder, shocking him out of his reverie.

With an entirely unmanly squeak that he wound deny to his dying breath, Jehan bolted up and out of his chair, falling onto the floor with a thump.

Above him, Courfeyrac chuckled, blue eyes sparkling with delight.

As always, he was impeccably dressed and perfectly put together, even his auburn curls were carefully styled to look like they were in a state of casual dissaray.

Jehan, as always, was less up to date with fashion. His clothes were horribly outdated (and he knew it) and it was only a matter of time before Courfeyrac started picking on today's outfit.

Jehan gave it five minutes.

"I know I'm ridiculously good-looking Jehan, but I wasn't expecting a squeal and a swoon when I walked into the room!" Courfeyrac teased. Jehan groaned and pushed himself onto his feet, rubbing his bottom with the hand that wasn't pulling his chair up off the ground.

"You're a maniac Courf" He grumbled, flopping back into his now-righted chair and returning to scribbling on his paper.

"Who dressed you Jehan? A colourblind three-year old?" Courfeyrac asked with a raised eyebrow.

Jehan let a knowing smile flicker across his face briefly.

Two minutes and nineteen seconds.

He shrugged in response and returned to his work, taking some pleasure in Courfeyrac's reaction to his lack of reaction.

It always annoyed his friend when the tables were turned on him.

Oh yes, where was he...

_Empty Chai-_  
"Where's our fearless leader?" Courfeyrac asked, interrupting yet another train of thought.

"'Jol? No idea. I was the first to arrive" Jehan mumbled, his pencil still in hand.

_Em-_  
"Huh. That's odd. Gavroche isn't even here yet?" Courfeyrac asked, his head swivelling to check every corner for the urchin.

With a sigh, Jehan shook his head.

Obviously, with Courfeyrac around, he wasn't going to get much of anything done.

No one got much of anything done with Alain Courfeyrac around. The man was a force of nature unto itself, a whirlwind that swept everyone up and tossed them around until they begged for mercy.

To sum him up in a nutshell, one would use the word 'spontaneous' when being polite.

'Batshit crazy bastard' was for when one was _not_ being polite, or adhering to the 'one-word-rule'.

"No, not yet, but Grantaire texted me saying he and Eponine would be arriving in his car" Jehan answered with a sigh.

"That's good, I haven't seen 'Ponine lately...but that also means they'll be late" Courfeyrac grinned, slipping into the chair across from Jehan.  
"Most probably" Jehan agreed with a small smile.  
"Oh well. So I guess it's just you and me then" Almost magically, a deck of cards appeared from Courfeyrac's pockets, tied together with a red silk ribbon. Jehan snorted, shaking his dark brown hair out of his equally dark brown eyes.  
"No, I will not play poker with you" He said firmly. Courfeyrac widened his eyes plaintively, injecting an extra shot of charm into his voice.  
"Aw, come on Jehan! Live a little" He needled. Jehan rolled his eyes and turned his head back to his notepad and pencil, idling rolling the pencil between his fingers as his brain groped for the right words.  
"Last time I played with you, 'Courf, I ended up broke and then stripped down to my boxers and then without my lift home. Besides" Jehan smiled a wicked smile. "You cheat" Jehan's smile turned into a grin as he pencil finally started flying across the page, words spilling out from the graphite as if they were water and the paper was a stream.

"Do not" Courfeyrac whined, annoyed.  
"Do TOO. 'Ponine told me" Jehan said idly, still writing furiously.

Eponine. Another muse for a tragic poem.

In love with the man that would never love her back, surrounded by people yet always alone.

So blinded by Marius that she couldn't see the people around her who cared for her.

Like Courfeyrac, who's eyes were affectionate even as his words were harsh.  
"'Ponine is a little rat" Courfeyrac hissed.

Plodding footsteps, and a light pattering that could only belong to little Gavroche.  
"Now you've offended all the rats Courf! Be mindful of their feelings" Grantaire strode into the room casually, tossing his car keys up and down in his hand.

Behind him trailed the rat herself, moving soundlessly, as though she walked on air. Courfeyrac raised his head up off his arms to glare at Eponine icily.  
"Grantaire, Gavroche, traitor" The last word dripped with annoyance.  
"You told Grantaire about the hole in the bottom of his cup" Eponine reminded her friend with a laugh, perching on a table.  
"Touche" Courfeyrac acknowledged grudgingly.

That prank ended with Eponine barred from Grantaire's flat for a while, possibly a week, maybe more-no one really knew, as Eponine had disappeared from the Musain around the same time.

It had been a funny prank, Grantaire's alcohol steadily leaking away out the bottom of his cup until he had to buy more and more and more, not getting any drunker.

"Hey Jehan" Eponine waved cheerfully.

Jehan rose his head, clearing away the swirling haze of words and verse and musing to smile at the trio.  
"Hi Eponine, 'Vroche, 'Taire"  
"Working on something?" Grantaire questioned.  
"An assignment" Jehan replied, somewhat sullenly. "It's due tomorrow"

Grantaire laughed at his unfortunate friend.  
"Oh I pity you poor Lit. students. All I have to do is hand in a couple of portraits and I'm home free" Grantaire flopped into his own chair, propping his feet up on the table and leaning his weight so the front two legs of the chair rose off the floor, folding his arms behind his head.  
"How's your photography course going then?" Courfeyrac asked.  
"Eh, just some crappy assignment on social commentary. I have to take some pictures of 'Real Life'." Grantaire shrugged, rocking back and forth on his chair.  
"That is...just about the wankiest thing I've ever heard" Courfeyrac grinned.

"And I've read some of Jehan's stuff" He continued, his grin turning into a sly smile.  
The jibe had it's required effect-Jehan rose his head and half-heartedly glared at Courfeyrac.  
"I have to write a set of poems and stories portraying life while revolving around an object" Jehan explained with a small smile.  
"What, like a divorce seen through the eyes of a door?" Courfeyrac snorted.  
"That's actually not a bad idea, thanks" Jehan grinned.  
"All I tuned in for was wanking and doors and now I'm confused" A supposedly disembodied voice spoke wryly from the corner.  
"GAH!" Grantaire shrieked.

The man and his chair toppled backwards in an eerie mimic of Jehan's actions of minutes ago.

Grantaire toppled backwards, falling like Jehan had done minutes ago.

Eponine snickered, Gavroche grinned, and Courfeyrac howled with laughter.

Jehan smiled a large smile and narrowed his eyes, finally noticing the dim outline of his friend in the corner.  
"'Ferre! Have you been here this whole time?" Gavroche asked.  
"Well...yes" Combeferre stood and moved into the light, settling on the table Eponine was sitting cross-legged on as she tried her best not to howl just as Courfeyrac was.  
"What d'you mean the whole time?" Courfeyrac wheezed. Combeferre smiled, black eyes glittering from behind his glasses.  
"I was waiting to see how long it would take for you to realise that you weren't alone. You're an oblivious lot aren't you?" He asked dryly.  
Courfeyrac opened his mouth to answer, but found no reply came to mind, so he closed it again.  
"Any word from the others?" Jehan asked curiously.

Combeferre shrugged.  
"Joly was going to pick up Bossuet-his car broken down" There was a small smile playing across the revolutionaries face as he spoke, obviously finding the entire thing hilarious.  
"Again?" Grantaire groaned as he finally picked himself up off the floor.  
"Third time this month" Combeferre nodded.  
"That man is the unluckiest man in all of France" Courfeyrac snorted.  
"What about Bahorel?" Jehan questioned. Comberferre shrugged.  
"He and Feuilly should be here any moment now, as should Marius"

Oddly enough, instead of smiling widely as she usually did when Marius was mentioned, Eponine hunched in on herself nervously.

Interesting.  
"And 'Jol?" Grantaire tried to sound like it was a casual enquiry, but he wasn't fooling anyone.  
"He texted me a minute ago-the bus has broken down" Comberferre snorted, picking up his copy og Plato's The Republic and opening it to a dog-eared page.

"That man needs a car" Eponine sighed.  
"And you don't? You live father away from here than he does and you walk everywhere" Grantaire pointed out.  
"I can take care of myself. I was raised on these streets" Eponine snorted.

"That doesn't mean-it doesn't matter right now. Where is he?" Grantaire asked, slightly less casual this time.  
"Outside his house" Combeferre answered, dark eyes back to scanning the book in his stood suddenly, his chair falling backwards (again) with the force of the abruptness of his movement.  
"I'll go pick him up" He said, stalking towards the door.

Courfeyrac sighed and examined his nails, taking care to study them and not his friend.  
"He can WALK, 'Taire" Courfeyrac drawled. Grantaire favoured his friend with an icy glare.  
"I'll pick him up" He said through gritted teeth.

Grantaire whirled out of the room and left in his wake a slightly tense atmosphere as Gavroche played Snake on Eponine's ancient Nokia and the rest sat quietly, the silence interrupted only by the beeping of Eponine's phone.

"So how've you been, Eponine? Haven't seen you around in a while" Jehan asked.

Eponine grinned, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder.  
"Oh, I've been around, just not in your part of town, and I'm quite well thankyou-mind if I smoke?"  
She shook her packet at the Amis, all who shrugged, not caring.  
"No" Jehan replied.  
"Mind you smoke out the window though-if Joly finds out he'll have a coniption" Combeferre advised.

Eponine tucked the cigarette between her lips and walked to the window, shoving it open and leaning on the sill as she lit the cig in her mouth.  
"Probably work himself into a fit and end up developing lung cancer through sheer force of will" She laughed, blowing smoke into the clear night air.  
"What about the rest of you?" Eponine asked.  
"Eh, University is University" Courfeyrac waved his hand dismissively, as if that would shoo the institution away.  
"Which means?" Eponine hazaarded.  
"Boring" Courfeyrac snorted disdainfully, popping a breath mint into his mouth. Jehan watched as Eponine opened her mouth, gearing up for sharp comment about privliges, and sighed when Combeferre wisely interrupted.  
"What about you 'Vroche?" How's school?" Combeferre turned to the little boy, who shrugged non-commitedly as he continued tapping away on Eponine's nokia.  
"Eh, School is school...same as your University, 'Ferre-boring" Gavroche complained.  
"You don't like learning?" Combeferre asked kindly, a small smile playing on his lips. Gavroche shrugged. "Oh, I like learning, I like learning well enough...don't like my teachers, and I learn more with you anyway" Gavroche smiled at the Amis shyly over the top of the phone, warming the hearts of the three men.  
"You're still going to school 'Vroche" Eponine said with a small smile.

Gavroche shot his sister a glare.  
"As if you don't tell me every other second" He muttered, pressing the keys with a renewed vigour that was almost scarily vicious.

Eponine merely reached over and ruffled her brother's hair affectionately, her smile growing as he scooted away.

A patter of footsteps, and Feuilly and Bahorel burst into the room, already apologising.

"Sorry we're late Enjolra-"

Feuilly stopped dead, green eyes sweeping the room.

"Enjolras isn't here?" Bahorel asked, turning a full circle to check that their 'Fearless Leader' wasn't crouching behind a table or hiding behind the door.

It was very unlike Enjolras to be doing either of those things, but Bahorel liked to be thorough.

"He's late" Gavroche chirped eagerly, swinging his legs from where they dangled high above the floor."Hello Bahorel, Feuilly" Combeferre nodded, pushing his glasses further up his nose as he read, already devouring his book once more. The two men nodded back at him, exchanging a small smile."How's the business going?" Jehan asked Feuilly.

The older man grimaced.  
"Could be worse" He admitted grudgingly.

That was Feuilly-speak, Jehan noted, for 'terribly and I might not make rent this month'.

Bahorel exchanged polite hello's with everyone, before his eyes slid over to gaze upon Eponine, still staring out the window as she smoked.  
"You might want to put out that cig, 'Ponine-I saw Joly's car not far from here" He warned.

Eponine immediatley crushed the cigarette on the window sill and tossed it out the window-ignoring the beginning of Jehan's rant about littering as she turned to face Courfeyrac.  
"Dammit. Thanks Bahorel" She sighed.  
"No problem" Bahorel replied, picking up Grantaire's upended chair and slipping into it.  
"Courf, can I borrow a breath mint?" Eponine asked, perching herself on the table in front of her friend. Courfeyrac arched an eyebrow, at Eponine from where he was resting his folded arms on  
"How do you know I have one?" Courfeyrac asked, ignoring the fact that he had eaten one not ten minutes before.  
"You're a man whore and you're wearing your date shoes-you have a breath mint" Eponine grinned.

Courfeyrac tossed her the packet, smiling fondly as she chucked four in her mouth JUST as Joly and Bosseut walked through the door.  
"Sorry we're late, Bosseut needed picking up" Joly laughed, running a hand through his hair that never remained flat.  
"Hey Joly!" Gavroche waved.  
"Joly!" Courfeyrac grinned, his greeting exactly in sync with Bahorel's and Feuilly's.  
"Evening" Combeferre intoned gravely.  
"How's 'Chetta?" Jehan asked swiftly.  
"Very well. I don't think I mentioned this, but she's managed to get herself one of the lead roles in a play" Joly collapsed wearily into a chair, rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to keep himself awake.

Med School was hard on the young man.

The fact that he was a hypochondriac made it even harder.

His latest obsession was a strange flesh-eating Australian virus that he swore he had somehow contracted when sitting in on the autopsy of an australian tourist.

"Oh really? Which one?" Eponine asked with a smile.  
"I don't know. Something to do with the revolutions of 1832. It's a miserable play-Chetta's character dies for the man she loves, who never really noticed her. Actually..." Joly paused, his brow furrowing as he thought.

"Nearly everyone dies" Joly ran his hand through his hair again, a sheepish smile on his tired face.

"Wot, like Hamlet?" Gavroche asked curiously.

Seven pairs of eyes swivelled to stare at the little urchin with some measure of surprise.

"How do you know Hamlet?" Feuilly asked the little boy. "You're only seven, you can't be studying Shakespeare yet"

Gavroche shrugged.  
"'Ponine was in it back in High School. Dad was so angry because she kept missing family stuff to go 'prance around in a dress and spout nonsense'" Eponine hung her head shamefully, cheeks flushing pink as the eyes swivelled to look curiously at Eponine. "Didn't mind it myself really. Words were a bit funny though, didn't sound like proper English 'Ponine had a main part too, some girl called-"  
"Right, now that we've heard about my brief brush with stardom" Eponine leveled Gavroche with an unimpressed narrowing of her eyes and a raise eyebrow.  
Gavroche blanched and turned back to snake.

"You were a theatre nerd?" Courfeyrac asked with a grin.  
"Shut up or I'll kick you where it hurts and I'm wearing spiky heels today"  
Courfeyrac, in the interest of the preservation of his manhood, shut up.

"Well...yes. Sort of like Hamlet" Joly finished awkwardly.. "In a way...Do we have any coffee?" He asked suddenly, hoping to change the subject.

"Go ask Victoire" Combeferre suggested. Joly cringed as he thought of 'The Dragon'.

She wasn't too fond of Joly.  
"No thanks. I'll leave that to Enjolras. She tolerates him" He refused. Courfeyrac smirked.  
"Wimp" He coughed.

Eponine pulled off a shoe and chucked it at his head.

Her aim was true.

"OW! What the hell?" Courfeyrac snapped.  
"Be nice" Eponine warned.

"Why do I smell smoke?" Joly sniffed.

Bahorel, Courfeyrac and Eponine exchanged a look. Combeferre merely smiled and Gavroche and Jehan preteneded to be absorbed in their own activities.  
"Sorry, that's me. Montparnasse was chain smoking like a twenties jazz singer" Eponine lied.

Joly 'hmmed', not entirely convinced, but left it at that as more and more students milled into the cafe, taking up their customary chairs and chatting quietly amongst themselves.

As always, the core of the Amis del L'ABC gathered towards the centre of the room, waiting for the fearsome leader.

And so Enjolras swooped in, talking amiably to Grantaire (for once) looking like some etheral creature from Greek Myth.

The crowd parted like the red sea to let him walk through, his green eyes narrowed determinedly, full of fire and passion.

"Enjolras!" Courfeyrac cried out happily.

Enjolras favoured his friend with a nod, still striding towards the centre of the room.

"What news of the other factions?" He asked brusquely, all business, as he always was when there was a meeting.

"Everyone in Notre Dame is prepared" Combeferre fell into step beside him, more serious than ever."Over at Rue de Bac they're straining at the leash" Feuilly added as Enjolras passed him.

"Student's, workers-everyone! All of Paris is coming to our side!" Courfeyrac bounced excitedly, the light of rebellion ablaze in his eyes as he trailed behind Combeferre.

"The time is so near" Enjolras murmured. He stepped up onto a chair, than onto a table.

"Near enough to begin stirring the blood in their veins-but we musn't let the beer go to our head!" Enjolras gave Grantaire a pointed look.  
Grantaire, a bottle of beer half-way to his mouth, looked more than a little sheepish as everyone chuckled."Our foe is dangerous, we could never hope to match their strength of arms and their men. It is easy-far too easy-to sit here and talk of what we could do, but actually DOING it, well...that is another thing entirely" Enjolras did not need to yell when he spoke. His presence, his voice, the words he chose...that alone could enrapture the audience, sway them to his side.  
"We'll need a sign" Combeferre suggested.

Enjolras nodded, that spark of life that only appeared when he was discussing freeing his Patria lighting up his entire body, making him glow from the inside.  
"Yes-a sign. Something to rally the people and call them to arms. Something to bring them in line!"

There was a reverent, magical silence as Enjolras's words captivated every man and woman in the room.

As HE captivaited every man and woman in the room.

The squeak of the door was far to loud, it cut through the silence those impassioned words had left in their wake, and all heads turned to look at the latecomer.  
"You're late Marius" Enjolras sniffed dismissively.

"You're pale...you're not ill are you? You look like you've seen a ghost!" Joly squeaked, trying to press the back of his hand against his friend's forhead.  
Marius waved him off, barely managing to catch the beet Grantaire tossed at him.  
"Here" Grantaire shoved a beer into the man's arms. "What's happened?"  
"A ghost?" Marius asked wistfully. "She may have been a ghost...one minute there then she was gone!" He sighed dreamily.  
Grantaire's jaw dropped.  
"I-I-is...Marius...is Marius in love?" Grantaire stuttered.

Comprehension dawned on Jehan's face as he saw Eponine's wince and Grantaire's over-the-top play acting.

As an aspiring poet, Jehan had become quite proficient in the subtle art of people-watching. He did it so frequently that he ended up becoming something of an expert on observing people.

So good, that in that single moment, he realised two important things-one obvious, one less so.

Neither of them was that Eponine loved Marius-everyone knew that, and had known for quite some time. It was obvious, her feelings were scrawled over her face for all to see.

No, what he realised was that Marius was in love, and that Grantaire had known about it before now.

There was a long silence, so quiet and heavy it was almost tangible, as the students processed this information.

Grantaire suddenly laughed loudly and strongly, taking a swig of his beer before continuining.

"I don't believe I've ever seen anything like this before! You talk of battles and revolutions and in comes Marius like Don Juan and-oh...please, this is like something off of the television!" Grantaire crowed, still laughing.

The men all laughed with and at Grantaire, Marius sinking into his little corner as he flushed red with embarrassment. Enjolras's eyes became steel as he quieted the men with his gaze alone, one hand held up asking for silence.

"It is time for us all to decide who we are...do we merely fight for the right to watch crappy daytime TV, Grantaire?" He asked quietly. Grantaire met the man's eyes defiantly, not wanting to hand his head low in shame. Enjolras merely continued, the words coming to him as naturally as flying came to a bird

"Have any of you-did any of you ask yourself what price you may have to pay for our dream to become reality? This is not simply a game for the bored students to play...can't you see it? The colours of this world are changing" Enjolras murmured, his eyes shinning with that undefinable something that made man, woman and child want to cast off all responsibility and ally themselves to him.

Always.

Marius, unwilling to submit, stepped forward with a stubborn set to his face and dark eyes.

"Had you been there today...you might know how it feels! It was as if I was struck to the bone in one moment of breathless delight...and maybe, if you had seen her, you might also have known how everything can become so different in a mere moment. What was once right seems wrong, and what had been wrong seems right" Marius pleaded. Enjolras sighed as he realised his friends alleigance was leaving Patria.

"Leave the poetry to Jehan, Marius" Someone called from the back. Enjolras silenced the student with a stern glance before he turned back to his friend.

"Marius, you're no longer a child, and now there is a higher call to be answered. Your lonely heart will have to wait for we strive for better goals. Our little lives they-they don't even count at all!"

There was another cheer from the crowd, a cheer that drowned out Marius's frown and his angry eyes. Enjolras smiled a small smile and continued his talk,

"Well, Courfeyrac, do we have all the guns? Feuilly, Combeferre, I need your reports, we have little time. Oh for goodness-Grantaire, put that bottle DOWN" Enjolras snapped.

Grantaire grinned and tore the bottle from his lips, a silly grin on his face.  
"Give me brandy on my breath and I'll breathe them all to death!" He joked.

Enjolras's lips quirked in amusement at that, but he turned so fast it was barely noticeable.

Not even Grantaire had seen the small, almost fond smile gracing the face of their leader.

Jehan would not say anything.

Best to let some thing lie.  
"They're with us to the man in Saint Antoine!" Courfeyrac said, cheeks coloured with anticipation.

"At Notre Dame they're tearing up the stones" Combeferre allowed himself a small smile.

"There's twenty rifles, good as new" Feuilly added, excitement colouring his voice.

"Twenty bullets to a man" Joly cheered.

"Double that in Port St. Cloud" Jehan pushed in.

"My source said there is only seven in St Martin" Bossuet said morosely.

"That is not nearly enough" Enjolras murmured.

They're talking continued, and as they planned, Marius slipped away from the centre, out of Jehan's sight, towards Eponine.

* * *

With her back to the wall and her arms by her side, Eponine watched as the students discussed their plans, feeling rather than seeing Marius approach.

Suddenly, he was beside her, leaning on the wall so close to her their shoulders were brushing.

Eponine shivered at the contact.

She looked at him from the corner of her eyes, not turning her head to face him as he had done for her.

"Eponine" He smiled that devestating, boyish smile that made everything in the room seem bright and good.  
"Hello Mister Marius" She responded, trying desperately to remain nonchalant.

Marius sniffed, his nose wrinkling as he detected the smell of ash and smoke that hung around Eponine like a cloud.  
"Why can I smell-"  
"You know my family smokes. Nasty habit" Eponine lied smoothly, rolling back her shoulders.

Her eyes drifted down to Marius's hand where it hung loosely by his side, mere inches away from hers. She wished she could tangle their fingers together, that she could lean her head on his shoulder and that he would press a kiss to it, smiling into her hair.

But her hand stayed where it was, playing with the hem of her shirt, and Marius's stayed by his side, empty and oh-so-inviting.

"Yesterday you promised me something" Marius murmured.  
"Did I? I can't quite recall" Eponine teased.  
"Eponine!" He whined.  
Eponine laughed and turned her own head to face him, trying not to blush.

His nose nearly brushed the tip of hers, as she looked up to meet his eyes,their lips were so close, it would be so incredibly easy to stand on the tip of her toes and press her lips against his.

But she wouldn't.

She couldn't.

"I remember Mister Marius, don't you worry" Eponine smiled a strained smile.

"_That girl...Cosette! We were children together, God what's happened to me?" Eponine moaned, leaning her head back against the cool brick wall._

_She suddenly longed for the numbness heroin could give her, for the rush in her veins and the forgetting, she knew her dealer still hung out not too far from Gorbeau-_

_No. _

_No, no more drugs. Marius hated the drugs, 'Vroche would never forgive her and she couldn't go through withdrawal again-_

"_Eponine! Who was that girl?" Marius asked, standing next to her.  
"Oh some two-a-penny upper-class thing" Eponine said casually, treating the living reminder of a happier time as if she was nothing._

_Hopefully, Marius would too._

_Marius would look at Eponine and see the girl who had done everything for him and love HER, not some flighty, pathetic blonde with pouty lips and big eyes._

_If Marius wanted Eponine to help find her, Eponine was sure she would die right there, on the spot.  
"Find her for me?" Marius begged._

_No death, but there went her heart, breaking into the tiniest of pieces.  
"And what will you give me if I do?" Eponine forced ahead, her smile weak and her voice sad._

_Marius, as always, didn't notice.  
"Anything!" Marius whispered.  
"Well look at you-all excited. No idea what you see in her..."  
Eponine winced as Marius held out his wallet._

"_No, for the last time Marius...I don't want your money" She mumbled. _

_Marius tucked the wallet back into his pocket, before grasping Eponine's shoulders tightly, fingers almost bruising her skin even through her jacket.  
"Eponine, find her for me. I'm lost until she's found...but don't let her father know" Marius whispered desperately. _

_Eponine's smile was more a grimace than anything else.  
"I told you didn't I? I know lots of things, more than you'll find in those books" She kept her tone light-hearted, forcing some semblance of happiness into her eyes._

_It fooled Marius, because he smiled._

_Marius's smile could light up the whole of Paris.  
"Yeah, you know your way around" He grinned, pulling her into a hug.  
"Thankyou" It was more an exhale than a whisper, but his breath tickled her ear and his arms around her were so warm and strong and he smelt like soap and coffee.  
She could hear his heart, beating away beneath that firm chest, and she wished that it would beat like that for her._

"Did you find her?" Marius asked softly, so softly Eponine almost didn't hear him.

Eponine remembered the previous night-the cold that bit into her as she roamed the streets, calling in favours to try and find the house of a small, blonde volunteer and her mysterious father.

Eponine snorted, trying to keep her tone light as inwardly her heart broke.  
"What, did you think I couldn't? Of course I found her! And I'll take you there-tonight. Lord knows you're hopeless with maps and directions..." She teased. Marius's eyes lit up as he took the jibe and returned it."No, you're just hopeless at giving them" He grinned, nudging her lightly with his shoulder.  
The pair chuckled quietly, before Marius's blue eyes turned on Eponine and asked a question that nearly winded her.

"Ponine, will I really see her again?" Marius whispered.

Eponine forced on that smile and pretended she wasn't breaking inside.  
"Yeah, you will"

_Why can't you see me here?_

* * *

"I don't like this Eponine" Courfeyrac murmured as Eponine shrugged her coat on.

The meeting had ended some twenty minutes ago, the students trickling out of the warm cafe into the bitter evening as the last dregs of winter spent themselves on the streets of Paris.

Grantaire had stopped drinking after the first hour, after Eponine had slyly mentioned he'd probably be the one to give Enjolras a lift home.

Gavroche was going to stay with Joly for the night, seeing as Eponine would be busy and she didn't want him home alone, not without her there to mediate things.

Marius was chatting to one of the last students in the opposite corner of the room, waiting for Eponine to ready herself before they set off to find his Cosette.

His angel, his Aphrodite. His sun and moon and what-have-you.

The girl that Eponine wished so desperately she could be.

Eponine had expected Courfeyrac to be annoyed with Marius's request, but she hadn't expected the man to blab to the rest of his friends about it and for the whole lot of them to march over to where she was saying goodbye to Gavroche to talk to her about it.

That was something friends did, and while she expected it of Courf and 'Taire, maybe even Joly, she didn't really expect it of the rest of them.

She was pretty friendly with everyone but not, well...friends.

At least, she thought they weren't that close...

Eponine shot Courfeyrac an icy glare, not taking well (as always) to being told what to do.  
"Well, Courf, it's not up to you is it?" She snapped.  
"I agree. Just give the idiot a map and send him on his way! You don't need to take him there" Combeferre added, his voice uncharacteristically dark and harsh.

It was rare for Combeferre to take an active part in any of the little dramas that raged within his group of friends. He preferred to observe from the outside, hiding behind his glasses and his books as everyone argued pettily.

The fact that he was putting in his own opinion in this case was enough to make Eponine pause.

And pause she did, wringing her cap uncertainly in her hands.  
"You're right, I don't" She murmured. Courfeyrac turned triumphantly to face Enjolras.  
"See! She listens to reason" He gestured wildly at Enjolras, who looked thoroughly unconvinced.

Obviously Enjolras thought she couldn't be persuaded-and he was right, too.  
"I don't have too...but I will" Eponine finished stubbornly, shoving the cap roughly onto her head.  
"You Thernardier's are a stubborn lot aren't you?" Combeferre asked darkly, annoyance flashing in his usually calm eyes.

He didn't take well to his advice being ignored, one of his more annoying faults.  
That, and he tended to hold a grudge when his advice was flouted.

"I'm not letting you go, 'Ponine" Courfeyrac was utterly serious.

Bossuet snorted before putting in his two cents worth.

"He can find his own bloody way there" The man grumbled.  
"Just give him an adress, he knows how to use Google Maps, right?" Bahorel added.

"Doubtful" Courfeyrac muttered. Eponine added some extra 'drawn-out pain' into her death glare and directed it, full force, at Courfeyrac.  
It said a lot for the man's feelings on the matter that he didn't even flinch, where Eponine's famed 'death glare' would usually send him scuttling underneath the table.

"You shouldn't have to run his errands for him" Joly murmured quietly, beseeching Eponine with his soft eyes to go home with him and Bossuet, have a hot cup of tea and catch up with 'Chetta while Gavroche slept on the sofa and he pored over his medical texts, Bossuet doodling in the margins of the book and trying to distract him.

It was tempting, but Eponine had to refuse.

"You do this and we both know it wont stop here" Feuilly warned.

Feuilly was right, of course. But it was far too late, Eponine mused. It would never stop. There was nothing she wouldn't do for her Mister Marius.  
Nothing at all.

"Don't go, Ponine" Gavroche whispered.

Eponine flinched slightly, before ruffling her little brother's hair, trying not to wince when he pulled away.

Eponine looked towards Enjolras.  
"And you, Apollo? What do you think?" She asked quietly.

Enjolras's piercing eyes swept over her, scrutinising her.

"I think you're an idiot" He said softly, but not unkindly.

That was Enjolras, giving his honest opinion without trying to coax her one way or the other.  
He seemed to grasp the fact that her mind was made up the moment Marius asked, and that all they could do was prepare for the fallout.

Eponine looked towards Grantaire, and, for the sake of the overly worried men, pretended to be conflicted and in need of support.

"Help me out, 'Taire" She sighed.

Grantaire shrugged, green eyes hooded and dark.

"I agree with Enjolras" Grantaire said shortly, curtly, murder in his eyes.

Eponine sighed, stepping back to face all of the men at once.  
"Look, you don't seem to get it. He's HAPPY. Really happy. And if-if I-if I can make him happy, then that's enough."

There was a long silence as her friends-her family-took in her words, something like comprehension dawning on them.

Over Enjolras's shoulder, Eponine met Marius's curious eyes as he watched the gathering, wondering what they were talking about.

Marius offered her that grin that made her melt and Eponine's resolve strengthened ever more.

No matter what anyone said, she would keep her promise.

"...You're still an idiot" Courfeyrac's acceptance was grudging, but it was an acceptance nonetheless.

And that was all Eponine needed.

The air outside was cold, but Eponine felt a little warmer as she looked at this group of men who...cared so much.

About her.

A former-druggie, high-school drop out street rat who had no prospects and no future.

Eponine smiled a weak smile.

"I know"

* * *

**NEXT UP! Le Rue Plumet.**

**Chapter Three: 'You'll scream Alright'. **

**And here is an excerpt.**

**Spittle flew from Thernardier's mouth as his fist tightened it's hold on the front of his daughter's shirt. **  
**"Do you want to know what happens to little girls who can't do what they're told, 'Ponine?**

**Mwahahahaha...me evil XD  
Now Review please! Check the Profile for more Character casting. **

**Love**

**-BadWolfWhoWaited**


	3. III:You'll Rue This Night

**To Dancing Specturm/JimJams (which name do you go by, I wonder?)  
This chapter is for you, because your review made me finish this chapter and start chapter four on the same day I recieved it. **

**Of course, I have this rule about not posting a chapter until the next one is written, so four wont be up until five is sorted out, but...**

**Thankyou, you wonderful person, for encouraging me to keep going with a project I thought wouldn't recieve much love. **

**You're amazing XD**

**On another note, here be le chapter and I own...le nothing.**

**I might also be going to le france at the end of the year though, so that's some unrelated coolness for you XD**

**Enjoy the Plumet scene! (and yes, this is kinda book timeline-y so it'll be a few months before the revolution. When it comes though...*evil giggle*)**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE: You'll Rue This Night**

_You wait my girl, you'll rue this night..._

Cosette Fauchevelent lived a solitary, privliged life, mostly alone except for the company of her tutors, her father and her house keeper.

It wasn't a bad life, when Cosette considered the life she lived before (memories that seemed to have a haze spread over them) or the lives of those who lived on the streets and in the darker places of Paris, but it wasn't enough for her anymore.

Her lonliness, Cosette mused, was most evident in her bedroom.

A nice enough bedroom by all accounts- a small, homey space, dominated by a large four-poster bed with a pretty summer-sky blue bedspread and crisp white sheets. On the far wall of the room was a large bay window with a pretty plush windowseat that looked out over her front garden and let in the morning sun. Her dresser was cluttered with all sorts of empty perfume bottles in pretty colours and shapes and sizes, the sunlight glinting off of them and making them sparkle. Her walls were adorned with paintings rather than photos of friends-she had none.

A pretty room, but even with it's little knick-knacks and oddities, it was still empty of what Cosette thought most teenage girls in her position had.

Gifts, cards, homework from school, books borrowed from friends and photos.

All Cosette had was a father, a smattering of tutors and a housekeeper, none of whom understood Cosette's growing need for company her own age.

She had not been to any sort of school since she was a child, having been taught by a score of nuns and tutors that her father employed, never getting any sort of interaction with girls her own age.

But her pretty little room and her books and the tree with the rope swing had always been enough for her.

Now...

Now it wasn't.

Sitting cross-legged on her bed, Cosette scribbled in one of the few secrets she kept from her father.

Every lonely girl needed something to confess her feelings too, Cosette was no different.

She had bought the diary three months ago, and had been writing daily ever since.

_Thinking of him, I feel as if my life has finally begun. Although it is strange-I never really thought that one could fall in love so fast._

_Have I been alone too much? Is that why I fell so quickly for that boy, whoever he is?  
I wonder..._

_There is so much I haven't seen, so much I should see, but I am alone, here, in my little room._

_Does he even exist? Did he see me as I saw him? Does he feel what I feel?_

_I wish so desperately he could find me now, find me-_

"Cosette"

Cosette looked up to see her father at the door, leaning against the doorframe with a small smile on his face.

"Good afternoon papa" She smiled nervously, praying that he would not see the book with her selfish confessions of malcontent.

What right had she to be upset when others could not eat, or had no bed to sleep on, or no books to read or no fine clothes to wear?  
Cosette instantly felt a stab of guilt deep in her gut, for feeling so selfish when many had nothing.

Her father stepped into the room, walking towards her.

"You're so alone Cosette...it must be difficult, living alone with me in this old house" Her father began, settling on the end of the bed.

Settling on top of her diary.

"Not-not really Papa...I am happy here. I just-"

Cosette bit her lip, unsure of where to begin or even if she should begin.

"Yes?" Her papa urged, eyes gentle and kind.  
"There is so much that I don't know that I wish I knew. You do not say much of the life you have led, why we keep to ourselves and why we're always alone. I love you father, and I have all I could possibly wish for but-"  
She sighed, lowering her eyes, suddenly losing her nerve and the words escaping her quickly.

"Some things, Cosette" Her father said tenderly, settling on the edge of her bed and brushing a stray lock of hair back from her face.

"Some things, some memories, are better left untouched" He murmured.

Cosette rose her eyes, meeting the gentle green of her father's.

"I-I am-" She took a deep breath.

Her father would not like this.

Her father didn't like too many questions.

"I'm not a child any more Papa" She said softly, but firmly.  
"I want to know what you know, I want to know of those years that you try to keep me from finding out about. I want-"  
"No more, Cosette" Her father's voice was ice, steel, his face unyeilding as the stone wall that kept her trapped inside her house day and night.  
"God gives us truth in our time and our turn, and that is the end of the matter"  
Her father stood, the bed creaking underneath him as his weight suddenly disappeared.

"I am going to my study for a while, will you be fine amusing yourself?"  
Do I ever do anything else? Cosette thought bitterly.  
"I...I might go out into the garden for a while Papa, if that is alright"  
"I suppose. But not for long, you need your rest" Valjean pressed a kiss to the top of her head, smiling softly at her before walking out of her room and padding down the hallway.

Cosette let out the breath she had been holding since her father sat down on her diary.

Maybe, she considered as she slipped outside, the diary under her arm and the pen behind her ear, diary writing was a task best kept for the garden.

Even if it was getting dark.

* * *

Paris at night was a sight Eponine could never tire of, even if she saw it a hundred, no, a thousand times.

The lights were brighter, nearly blotting out the stars as the poorer classes drowned their sorrows in music with heavy bass lines and alcohol that burned the throat.

In the alleys that fanned away from the main streets, dealers slipped their clients small packets of powder-another method of forgetting that Eponine had once been intimately acquainted with.

Everyone in the slums wanted to forget-wanted to forget that President Roi had just raised the taxed once more, and oh look-what a surprise, the election has been postponed once more, and hey what do you know, the treasurer has been keeping some of the tax to himself and has escaped to some tropical island.

They wanted to forget that the righteous didn't care about the poor, that no one cared, that Roi was shoving their country down a dark whole of debt and despair and poverty, that he was no better than the Kings of old in their palaces with their money and selfish desires.

Roi imported Italian cusine straight from Italy for some dinners while people starved and died in the streets.

No one cared about the poor, no one wanted to care about the poor, and so the poor wanted to forget.

The poor wanted to forget that there was no hope for them and they'd just fall deeper and deeper into this hole until they disappeared completely and left nothing behind but a memory of a person that one day too, would be gone.

No one cared about the poor, so the poor cared about no one.

That, Eponine mused, was Enjolras's biggest mistake in his petitioning. He had no one on hand to convince the poor it was worth deposing Roi.

Eponine could, if she wanted too, but Enjolras would never ask and he'd get annoyed if anything was done without his approval.  
One of his more annoying habits.

Behind her, Marius trailed uncertainly as she wended her way through the crowds, her hand loosely grasping his wrist to keep him from slipping away.

Eponine led him through the chaotic maze of light and sound, past the men and women staggering through the streets, through the hazes of smokes drifting through windows.

Eponine would never get over the city at night, the seedy underbelly exposing itself as everyone tried to forget their troubles with whatever was on hand.

Marius wasn't used to such things. Even when he had been her neighbour at the Gorbeau House, he had only caught a glimpse of what desperate people would do.

Marius, no doubt, found the scene around him tragic.

Eponine felt like the night was the only time when the city was truly alive.

They drew away from the bars and clubs, finding their way onto Rue Plumet.  
"Nearly there" Eponine murmured.

Behind her, Marius straightened, his wrist dropping from Eponine's hand as he jogged to stand next to her.

"Which house?" Marius asked excitedly.  
"I'll take you" Eponine forced a laugh through her lips, watching as Marius half-danced along the street, eyes alight with the one thing Eponine had wished he'd look at her with.

Love.

"In my life...oh! She has burst like the music of angels...no the sun! It is like all that came before is over and this...this is where my life begins!" Marius crowed, spinning around with arms outstretched, fingers splayed as though her was trying to grab something.  
"Calm down Mister Marius" Eponine smiled sadly. Marius turned to face her, grabbing her shoulder's and looking her straight in the eye.

For a moment, Eponine pretended the love she could see there was for her, that she had put that giddy smile on his face and that spring in his step.

"Eponine" He said seriously. "You are the friend that brought me here...thanks to you, I feel as if heaven is within my grasp!" He turned away again, laughing loudly.

_Can you not see that you're killing me here Marius?Are you truly that blind, or do you just not care?_  
"OI! Shut that RACKET!" An irate older woman yelled down from her flat, tossing down a cardboard tube that narrowly missed Eponine's head.

"Sorry!" Eponine called up.

The woman slammed her window with a grumble, Marius and Eponine trying in vain to stifle their giggles as they continued down the street.

Eponine stopped, just for a moment, watching as Marius walked ahead of her, walked away.

It seemed that was all she ever did.

_There is no one like you anywhere...don't you know? If you asked, I'd be yours...without a thought._

Marius turned around, beckoning her forward.

"I can't very well find it without your help!" Marius called.  
Eponine walked briskly to catch up to him, taking a deep breath to steady the frantic beating of her breaking heart.

Fifty-one...fifty-three...

"This is it, Marius" Eponine gestured to the brass numbers on a tall stone wall.

Marius peered through the gate, freezing.  
"She's in the garden" He whispered.

Eponine drew back slightly, her shoulders hunching as she folded into herself.  
"In my life...she has touched my life" Marius whispered, entranced by the girl in the garden.

_But you touched my life_,_ Mister Marius _Eponine's heart cried.  
Marius took a deep breath, and turned to the wall, before turning back to Eponine sheepishly.  
"I have nothing to offer her" He said quietly.

Eponine reached inside her coat for the small, thorny winter rose she had picked earlier, pure white and delicate.

Azelma loved winter roses, Eponine had planned on giving it to her.

But Marius needed it, Marius needed something to offer to his Cosette.

It would make him happy.

So Eponine handed him the rose and tossed him a casual smile.

"Always forgetting things" She laughed quietly.

Marius's face lit up and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.  
"You are the most wonderful person in Paris, 'Ponine" He grinned. He turned to the wall, staring up at the obstacle with a wistful expression.

"She's waiting...so near" He whispered before turning a scaling the wall quickly and jerkily, the rose between his teeth.

At the top, he looked down and waved at her, before disappearing over the other side.  
"And I am waiting here" Eponine whispered brokenly "I'm always waiting right here"

* * *

Eponine leant against the wall of number fifty, Rue Plumet, trying desperately not to imagine just what the two were doing in that pretty garden with it's high walls.  
"He's not my to lose, he never was" Eponine chanted under her breath.  
"Why the hell am I regretting something that never happened? It was never going to happen, dammit-" Eponine clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white, little half-moon indents appearing in the soft skin of her palms.

"He'd never say those words to me, or any words like the ones he's saying to her...pretty, perfect little Cosette" Eponine turned and rested her forehead on the stone.  
"He was never going to feel that way about you, Ponine" She whispered. "Never, ever, ever, EVER-" Eponine thumped her forehead on the wall with every 'ever', screwing up her eyes against the tears that were threatening to trickle down her face.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and Eponine turned and fished it out, welcome for the distraction.

_Where R U?  
-R_

Eponine allowed herself a small smile as she texted her friend back.

_I'm alright. _

_-E_

Barely a minute later, Grantaire replied.

_Not an answer Thernardier. I can pick u up._

_-R_

Eponine chuckled and quickly replied.

_No thnks. I'll call later_

_-E_

She lit up a cigarette and tucked it between her lips, the nicotine buzz calming her frantic mind, relaxing the tension in her shoulders and the tightness in her jaw.

Something caught Eponine's eye-a familiar shaped shadow slipping from a small street into the Rue Plumet.

As he passed quickly under the streetlight, Eponine recognised his face immediatley.

She crushed the cigarette under her heel and slipped over to the shadowy figure, tapping him on the shoulder playfully with her pointer finger, a smile on her face.

Faster than lightning, she was shoved against a wall with a hand over her mouth and a knife at her throat.

Eponine's heart stopped for a second before she regained her compsure, giving Montparnasse her best 'stink eye' until he recognised the girl he had trapped and let her go with a large exhale, shaking running his hand over his close-cropped blonde hair.

"Fuck 'Ponine" He swore. "You scared the crap outta me"  
Eponine rose an eyebrow, her heart still pounding frantically and her chest heaving as she remembered the cold steel against her throat.

"YOU were scared? You had me at a wall with a knife at my throat" She hissed, although her voice lacked it's usual bite.

Montparnasse seemed to realise this, and smiled a small, slightly sheepish smile-the closest thing to an apology that Eponine would ever get.

"You...surprised me is all" He murmured.

They stood there in silence, before Eponine looked around at the fairly posh neighbourhood, a half-laugh bubbling out of her chest as she thought of their usual haunts in the crummier parts of the city.

"Bit far outta our usual patch, eh 'Parnasse?" She asked with a grin.

'Parnasse agreed with a nod, eyes flicking to the house behind her.

"You have that right 'Ponine..."  
"Which brings me to why I came over...what are you doing here?" Eponine asked.

Montparnasee grinned that feral grin of his that meant he was up to no good.

"You're Dad's out looking for some blood...see that house there?"  
Eponine froze as Montparnasse gestured to No. 55.  
No...not that house...any house but that one...

"The man who got away yesterday...that's where he lives. Some old convict or something, your Dad reckons he has something of a fortune squirrelled away" Montparnasse snorted and shoved his hands in his pocket, showing exactly what he thought of that idea.

The man's brow suddenly furrowed in concentration, a thought creeping up on him quite quickly.

"If you're not here for the robbery, 'Ponine...why are you here?" Montparnasse asked.

Ignoring the question, Eponine shouted a thankyou over her shoulder as she jogged towards No. 55, her heart, once again, pounding in her chest.

"Ponine!?" Montparnasse softly called.

Eponine did not listen.

She rarely listened to anyone but herself.

"What do I do, what do I do...dammit! If Dad attacks Marius might think-"  
Eponine stopped dead.

"I've got to warn them" She whispered.

She broke out into a run, stopping as she heard her father's gang approach and tucking herself half-hidden into a shadow.

The Patron-Minette gathered in a circle not too far from No. 55, Montparnasse joining them as they formed a semi-circle around Thernardier, the quick little man whispering hurriedly to his semi-loyal band of thieves and murderers.

"This is where he goes, I've seen him about. Keeps himself to himself mostly, stays close to the ground...I smell profit here" Thernardier bared his teeth in a feral grin.

"Ten or so years ago he came and took our little maid. I let her go for practically nothing, but now...now it's time we settle the outstanding debt. And it's accumulated some interest" The man chuckled darkly, eyes glinting with a sort of maliciousness Eponine was intimately familiar with.  
"I don't bloody care who we rob or why Thernardier! Just get it going so I can get my share!" Someone-Brujon?-snapped.

"Shut the fuck up Brujon and give me you're-what?" Thernardier asked impatiently.

Brujon was peering over her father's shoulder, his beady eyes boring straight into Eponine.

"What have we here?" Brujon asked curiously.

Thernardier turned and rose an eyebrow.  
"Who is this hussy? One of yours, Montparnasse?" He turned to look at the youngest of his crew, eyes narrowed and mouth grim.  
"Oh for God's-it's your brat Eponine, can't you tell it's your own kid? Why's she here?" Babet groaned.

Thernardier peered into the darkness, eyes widening as he recognised his eldest child.

"Eponine, get on home, you're not needed for this. We're enough here without you" Thernardier waved her off.

Eponine stepped out of her shadowy corner and into the streetlight, squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath she knew she needed.

Now or never.

"Dad" She began nervously.

Her father turned his head to look at her.

"I know this house...they're just volunteers! There's nothing here, just an old man and a girl-they live ordinary lives" Her confidence rose as she continues until her voice was less of a broken little whisper and more of a firm request.  
"Don't interfere Ponine...you have some guts! If you don't watch out, that mouth of yours could get you in trouble" Thernardier's voice was soft as silk, but laced with poison.

That was his danger voice, that voice that promised nothing good from the sleeping dragon if you continued to poke him.

Eponine couldn't hold back the shiver that ran down her spine as that voice wrapped around her heart and made it beat even faster with fear.  
"Going soft" Brujon grunted, turning his head away.

"It happens" Clasqueous added with a bored sigh.

"Ponine...go home, you're in the way here" Montparnasse murmured, eyes big and pleading for her to leave before she got herself into some real trouble.

Trouble she couldn't talk or fight her way out of.

Eponine looked her father dead in the eye, pushing down the instinct to run and hope he'd forgive her."I'll scream" Eponine threatened. "I swear to God I'll scream"

Thernardier actually balked, his face paling.

"Don't you dare" Thernardier growled, taking a step towards her.

Eponine held her ground, ignoring the urge to runrunrunRUN and spend the night at 'Taire's.

Again.  
"Well ain't this a treat, watching a bitch and her mutt of a father going at it...in the street too!" Clasquesous laughed.

"Not a sound out of you, girl" Brujon warned, his voice rough with anger, drawing his gun.

Montparnasse reluctantly moved towards her, ready to silence her with a swift hand and that slick, silver knife, but Eponine ignroed him.

"I told you I'd do it..." She mumbled.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath.

And she screamed.

At once, the Patron-Minette began to scatter cursing the Jondrette girl angrily.

"Get for the sewers, head underground...I'll deal with this" Thernardier rolled up his sleeves and stalked towards his daughter, eyes glittering angrily.

Eponine backed away fearfully, but not fast enough, because then her father's hand was at her throat and she was up against a wall, his breath in her ear.

"Oh you wait 'Ponine you little bitch! You'll regret this...you wanna scream? I'll make you scream alright!" Thernardier hissed.

He grabbed the front of her shirt and threw her roughly to the ground, ignoring her cry of pain.

"If you're not home in an hour, your brat of a brother will get what's meant for you next time I see him" He hissed, looking down at her with those fearsome, angry eyes.

Then he was gone, stealing away into the shadows, and Eponine was back on her feet with a forced smile on her face as Marius jumped over the wall, Cosette taking his hand through the gate.

"Eponine...Eponine, I lied-you are not the most wonderful person in Paris, you're the best in the world! Sending them away like that...Cosette, this is my greatest and most faithful friend 'Ponine. 'Ponine, meet the love of my life, Cosette" Marius's grin was wide and silly, his lips swollen from kisses and slightly pink from lip gloss.

Eponine stepped forward into the light, not meeting the beautiful girl's eyes, although she knew the little lark had to recognise her.

Eponine tried not to wince as she felt those eyes sweeping over her  
"A pleasure...but Marius, they could come back-we have to go" Eponine urged.

"I will return tomorrow" He promised.

"I will count every second" Cosette swore passionately.

Eponine thought she might throw up.

"I love you" Marius said tenderly.

Eponine held back her choked sob.

Barely.

"And I you" Cosette whispered.

She had to turn away when they kissed through the bars, and she only opened her eyes when Marius grabbed her wrist and tore down the street, not stopping until they were out of the Rue Plumet.

"Eponine...I can never thank you enough for what you have done" Marius took her hand and stared deep into her eyes.

"Truly. You have made me the happiest man in all of Paris!"  
Eponine nodded, moulding her lips into some semblance of a smile.  
"It's what friends do, isn't it?" She asked sadly.

* * *

Forty minutes later, Eponine crept quietly through the Gorbeau House, hoping desperately that her father was far too drunk to remember his sinister threat.

A fist reached out from the darkness and grabbed her hair, pulling her into a darkened room and throwing her hard against the wall.

Eponine couldn't help but cry out as she hit the wall and slid to the floor, whimpering as her father's boots stalked towards her.

A hand reached down and grabbed her shirt, hauling her to her feet and shoving her hard against the wall.

Eponine closed her eyes, holding back the tears and sobs as best she could.

"Hello dearie" Thernardier said quietly. "Let me tell you a story-no...nonononono...open your eyes for this" Thernardier whispered silkily.

Eponine shook her head, and her father pulled her slightly away from the wall and shoved her against it once more.

"Open. Them" He growled.  
Eponine obliged.  
"There was once this little girl, who had a good father...a father who, sometimes, told his daughter to do something, and, like most fathers, expected her to do it" Thernardier hissed.

"They continued like this for some years. The girl would obey, and she would be one day...she didn't do as she was told"

Spittle flew from Thernardier's mouth as his fist tightened it's hold on the front of his daughter's shirt.

"Do you want to know what happens to little girls who can't do what they're told, 'Ponine?" Thernardier asked.

Eponine choked down her sob, closed her eyes, and hoped that it would all end soon.

* * *

**Oh would you look at that-a shorter chapter than usual that ends on a cliffhanger.**

**What will happen? Who knows.**  
**Find out next time, but until then-read, review, enjoy!**  
**Lots of love-BadWolf**


	4. IV:Knows Her Way About

**Hiya!  
After a long, LONG hiatus where I was dealing with the sudden influx of never ending assignments that came with yr 11, balancing a part time job and music practice/lessons, I finally have time to write once more!  
Sorry about the wait, but here is chapter four! And Because I love you all very, VERY much, chapter five and maybe even six will be up soon.  
Hopefully.  
Keep reviewing, and thankyou to those who follow/favourite/review this story because you keep me going when my writers block and my lack of time to develop this more kick me down.  
As always, this is unbeta'd, so point out spelling/grammatical errors that my computer doesn't pick up. OpenOffice is a great substitute for word mostly, but it's spellcheck is, as Eponine would put it 'crappy as all hell'.**

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR: Knows Her Way About**

_That's Eponine, she knows her way about..._

It was your typicalTtuesday afternoon-rain poured down outside while inside, Grantaire lay lounged over several beanbags, a half-finished bottle of Jagermeister next to his left hand (which was drawing circles on the carpet) while fifteen-year-old Eponine read aloud from a book entitled 'Fire Down Below' (with a picture of a busty youung woman in a ripped gown swooning into the arms of a shirtless man with long flowing hair, a steamship in the background, a bottle of tequila dangling loosely from her hand, while crappy daytime soaps played softly on TV.

At fifteen, Eponine was stick-thin with wide, frightened eyes and long sleeves that hid the bruises and trackmarks on her elbows. At nineteen, Grantaire was firmly in denial about his affection for certain people and firmly in denial that his maybe-best-friend (she was too young to be his best friend, too young for that burden yet) was shooting up every other day.

His denial perfectly suited Eponine's refusal to talk, so they very well suited each other, understanding each other in a way few other's could.

It was an easy routine, their friendship, something that neither would admit they completely and utterly needed but would not hesitate to defend with everything they could.

"...as he trailed his hand up her milky thigh, loins _burning_ with desire..." Eponine dramatically read, trying hard to hold back the giggles as she did  
"Wow. Double whammy. Burning loins and Milky thighs. Drink up" She ordered.

Eponine and Grantaire both took a swig of their respective alcohol, grimacing slightly as it burned it's way down their throats.

"We...we n'd a whoooooooooole trifecta" Grantaire slurred, slightly more drunk and slightly less coherent that his giggling friend. "A 'Heaving Bosom' has to be in th'r too" Grantaire pronounced triumphantly.

"That'd just be to perfect" Eponine laughed, throwing her head back.

She held the book above her face, cradling the tequila in her arm as she read dramatically, her cheeks flushed from alcohol and good company.

"-as he trailed his hands up her milky thigh, loins _burning_ with desire, she smiled at him_ lustily,_ her bosom _heaving_-"  
Grantaire and Eponine took a long look at each other, before bursting out laughing, laughing so loud that the man downstairs started whacking the roof/Grantaire's floor with a broom and yelling at them to 'shut UP or so help him god...'

Their laughs eventually subsided into stifled giggles, and then into spasms of half-laughs every now and then because everything was, of course, funny for longer when one was slightly tipsy.

Or, in Grantaire's case, so close to drunk it really couldn't be called tipsy anymore.

Eponine's phone rang, the opening notes to Beethoven's fifth startling them out of their comfortable silence.

Without even glancing at her screen, Eponine answered with an innocent;

"Antonio's pizza parlour how can I help you?"  
Grantaire shoved his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing.

Eponine discreetly (with a playful wink at Grantaire) pressed the speaker button just in time for Grantaire to hear Enjolras's voice (tinny and far away over the phone but still silky-smooth and dark) ask "What? Who is this?"  
"THE FRENCH REVOLUTION!" Eponine cried out.

There was a long pause as Grantaire attempted not to laugh.

"...that was so entirely un-funny that I have lost respect for you" Enjolras said in a deadpan tone. Eponine laughed loudly, far too loudly and far too long, Grantaire could just about hear Enjolras working out exactly what was going on.  
"How drunk are you and Grantaire?" Their fearless leader asked.

"How'd you know I'm not at home, alone, completely sober?" Eponine asked with a grin.

"Please. You're never home. Besides, I'm at the door-I could hear you laughing" Grantaire finally giggled then, a muffled giggle thanks to the fist still shoved into his mouth.

"You might not want to come in Apollo, we'll offend your delicate sensibilities" Eponine teased, winking at Grantaire cheekily.  
"I've seen both of you naked and held back your hair when you threw up, 'Ponine, not much you could do would 'offend my delicate sensibilities' now" Enjolras replied stonily.  
Eponine could just about hear the affronted nose-wrinkling.

She grinned.  
"We're reading erotic fiction" She said triumphantly, with a smug sort of finality that told anyone who heard her that YES, she could still shock Lucien Enjolras.  
There was a long, long, long silence.

One of Eponine's favourite things was shocking Enjolras to silence.

Seeing the famously well-spoken law student stand there, eyes widened slightly on that marble face, sometimes opening his mouth to try to reply but unable too, was one of her joys in life.

Even though she wasn't standing in front of him, she could still picture the look of utter disbelief in those blue eyes of his.  
Granted, not much she did shocked him anymore but whenever she did find something, she took full advantage of it.

"...that's new" Enjolras cleared his throat, sounding terrible uncertain.

"It's a drinking game, whenever I find certain words we have to take a swig" Eponine sighed.  
"A swig?" Enjolras queried, and Eponine could tell he wasn't sure if he wanted to know, but that his curiosity was demanding he find out.

Grantaire finally could not keep his silence any longer.  
"We're drinkin' fr'm bottles, saves dishes" Grantaire butted in. "Y'know, savin' water, r-rejecting society's con-" Grantaire paused, unsure of how to sound out the word. "Con-for-mist., that's it! Conformist nature to things like cr-crockery" Grantaire stretched his arms above his head and arched his back, like a cat, yawning so wide his jaw cracked.

"Interesting"

Enjolras cleared his throat once more-a nervous habit-before speaking again.

"So I am assuming you are both indisposed and will not be attending tonights meeting?" Enjolras asked sharply.  
"Oh, we'll be attending" Eponine assured him, giggling as she spoke.  
"Not if you are drunk, you wont be. No one will want to drive you and if Grantaire tries to get behind the wheel drunk again-"  
Grantaire blanched.

That hadn't been his finest hour.

Eponine just laughed.  
"Like I'd let that happen again. Relax Apollo, I'll make sure he sobers up. Wanna come in for some coffee? Or would you prefer we carry out this conversation entirely over phone while you wait outside the door awkwardly" Eponine asked. Grantaire shook his head fervently not wanting to see the denied object of his affections right now, when the entire reason he was drinking was to forget.

Eponine, being Eponine, did one of the things she did best and ignored him.

"If you please" Enjolras asked quietly.

He'd be all dripping from the rain and miserable with his hair in his eyes and...

No, Grantaire didn't care what he looked like.  
"It's my h'me, don't I get-gettoo invite p'ple in?" Grantaire slurred in protest.  
"Not when you're half-drunk you're not. When was the last time you were sober anyw-actually, don't answer that, I'll make sure you are soon. Now tidy up, I'M COMING TO GET YOU ENJOLRAS!" Eponine yelled, stalking to the front door.

An hour later, a semi-sober Grantaire was debating Voltaire with the man he refused to admit he liked, while Eponine flipped pancakes, interjecting with her own points, regardless of the fact that she had never read Voltaire in the first place.  
Maybe, Grantaire considered idly, his almost-best-friend did know best sometimes.

* * *

"_This isn't good"  
"Don't you think I know that 'Jol? I can't-"  
"Stop panicking Grantaire, it'll be alright"  
"HOW CAN YOU ASK ME NOT TO PANIC?" _

* * *

Enjolras was woken from that deliciously tantalising state between waking and dreaming by a bird-thin hand on his shoulder and a gentle shake.

He looked up, straightening his glasses to see the one who had dared wake him and with the force of his glare turn that demon into a quivering wreck.

Eponine was smiling softly at him, bright blue eyes warm and gentle as she pushed a coffee into his hands.  
"Combeferre texted me and asked me to make sure you weren't going to spend the night here-said something about revenge being swift and without mercy if he woke you" Eponine grinned. Enjolras eyed the girl warily.

She woke him...but she had also given him coffee.  
Oh, the dilemma.  
It was good coffee-Enjolras could smell the quality.  
With a sigh, he forgave her.  
Grudgingly.

"He'd be right, too" Enjolras grumbled.

There was a comfortable silence as Enjolras sipped his coffee, relishing the hot, bitter taste spreading through his veins, making him feel more like a human being and less like a creature from the black swamp.

"This is the third time I've seen you fall asleep over a textbook 'Jol...studying too hard?" Eponine asked easily. Enjolras looked at the teenager, and, almost pointedly, replied.  
"You can never study hard enough" Eponine snorted at that.  
"God, no wonder you and 'Ferre get on, you both have insane work ethics" She muttered, rolling back her shoulders and stretching her arms high above her head. Enjolras turned back to his book.  
"Thankyou" Enjolras responded absently.  
"No, as in literally insane, as in you should be committed and cured of your devotion to work that comes above all else, including necessities like sleep, food and showering"  
Eponine's wrinkled nose on the last word made Enjolras subtly sniff the collar of his shirt.

He didn't smell, did he?

"You do a little" Eponine teased. Enjolras frowned disapprovingly at the whirlwind of a teenager, something that Eponine, in true Eponine fashion, ignored as she flopped down beside him.  
"You ARE working to hard, I know exams are coming up, but you can't honestly think studying in your every spare moment will-" Enjolras's raised eyebrow, asking 'and why shouldn't I think that?' stopped her in her tracks.

"Oh for fuck's sake-you-Even I know that studying all the time and not giving your brain a chance to _breathe_ is bad for your health! You might fucking explode or something if you keep on like that!" Eponine protested.

Enjolras didn't even bat an eyelid at the language-everyone was used to it by now.  
"I highly doubt my brain will explode, Eponine" He said, his lips curving into a slow, small smile.  
"You also think taking no time to relax and stressing yourself to death will somehow help you with studying" Eponine retorted sharply. Enjolras opened his mouth to reply, and closed it once more.

"Well...what do you suggest then?" He asked (not petulantly, he would never be petulant).

Eponine merely grabbed his hand and whisked him away.

They walked, winding through alleys, taking shortcuts Enjolras never knew existed, through the hidden walkways and secret streets Enjolras had never taken the time to investigate, until she halted him suddenly in front of an office building somewhere in Saint Denis.  
"This is what you took me away from studying for?" Enjolras asked blankly, so obviously unimpressed Eponine had to smile.

Wrapping those thing fingers around his wrist, she dragged him inside.

The room was huge, far bigger than it had looked from the outside. Men and women danced as music tinkled over speakers, a long table with finger food was pressed against the far wall.

And on the walls...

Art.

Good art, bad art, swirling abstract colours painting a picture you could only guess at, detailed portraits that captured the laughter in someone's eyes as they smiled, skylines at sunset in rich golds and crimsons, landscapes he'd never seen in emerald greens and sapphire blues.

"It's an artists squat" Eponine explained. "People hold parties here, exhibitions..." Eponine smiled gently.

"I found it three or so years ago and have been coming back ever since" Eponine looked up at Enjolras, her smile sparkling in her eyes.

For a moment, Enjolras wanted to protest and claim that he should be back in the Musain, poring over that too-heavy book until his eyes bled ink, but in the smoky gallery, his head felt...clearer than it had back in the Musain.

Emptier.

Enjolras liked it, liked the feeling of weightlessness, and told himself that a few hours would do him no harm.

Eponine gestured to the whole of the gallery, and asked him breathlessly;

"Wanna look around?"  
Enjolras spent hours in that gallery. He made friends with the party goers, drank a little too much champagne, and met a young artist who offered to paint his portrait (Enjolras politely refused but the man gave him his number anyway with a wink, and Eponine teased him for half an hour).  
Afterwards, Eponine dragged him too an all-night cafe that had 'the best fucking falafels in the history of man kind' and they sat and ate food that Eponine pronounced 'orgasmic' and that Enjolras pronounced as 'passing decent' and discussed politics, religion, history, art and their friends until the sun peeked over the tops of the rooves and painted the city gold.

Under a pink-streaked sky, Eponine took Enjolras to his flat and left him at the door, paying the taxi with what was left in her pockets.  
When he woke up five hours later, exhausted physically but psychologically refreshed, he trudged out to his kitchen and saw his textbooks-abandoned last night at the Musain-sitting stacked in perfect alphabetical order on his desk with a sandwich some water and a promise of takeout being brought over for dinner.

Enjolras smiled to himself as he remembered falafels at four and a smoky artists squat filled with paintings and people that reminded Enjolras of what he was fighting for.

* * *

"_That's not good"  
"What do you mean 'not good' 'Ferre?"  
"I think she's concussed. She needs a hospital"  
"She'll kill us if we bring her to a hospital. She made me promise 'Ferre-no hospitals"  
"Would you rather a broken promise or a dead friend?" _

* * *

Combeferre was startled out of a wonderful dream early in the morning (or late at night?) by the sound of glass shattering on a wooden floor.

Groping with one hand for his lamp switch, Comberferre grumpily rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the other, and blinked blearily when the ceiling light was switched on by an irritable Enjolras.  
"What the hell 'Ferre? I have an eight o'clock class tomorrow" The man groaned, stumbling into Combeferre's room. Combeferre blinked wearily before slipping his glasses on, rolling his shoulders back to work out the kink in his neck.

Enjolras wasn't much of a morning person.

Neither was Comberferre.

Both men were willing to sacrifice sleep for their studies but neither liked being woken up when they finally chose to collapse over their open textbook/laptop/essay draft/lunch or dinner.

It was one of the reasons they had originally decided to share a flat-neither had to worry about the other one disturbing their slumber unless it was an absolute emergency and ohgodsomeonewasdying.

Only then would they allow someone to wake them.

Well, not only then. Exceptions were made when there was a reasonable explanation and the waker was forgiven much quicker if they had brought coffee.

But the fact remained that neither Lucien Enjolras or Emile Combeferre liked mornings.

"No...idea 'Jol" Comberferre yawned, peering at the window curiously while reaching for the glass of water he-

Oh.

His flip phone sat innocently on his bedside table, where Combeferre's glass of water had once stood, staring up at him as if it had done no wrong.

The glass itself was in elegant shards on the ground, surrounded by the water Combeferre suddenly needed so desperately.

One of his tamer quirks that Enjolras was used too.

The Phone had somehow pushed the glass from his small bedside table...but how?

Combeferre's sleep-addled mind couldn't quite work it out.  
"I'll go get you another, and the dustpan" Enjolras sighed, stumbling sleepily out into their flat.

Combeferre reached for his phone and flipped it open, peering curiously at the glowing screen.

Oh, it was on vibrate.  
That would do it.

"Eighteen missed calls from-hey Jol, how was 'Taire when he dropped you here?" Combeferre shouted at his tired flatmate.

"What do you mean?" Enjolras's voice was faint, but Combeferre could hear the tap running.

In the kitchen then.  
"Did he look like he was going to...have a few?" Combeferre called back.  
"No, not really. Does he look any different when he's going to have a few?"

Combeferre sighed and rubbed his forehead.

God save him from oblivious, idiotic, patriotic morons.  
"Did he mention anything?" Combeferre yelled.  
"Just that he was going to text Eponine and see if she was ok.." Enjolras, much more awake, trudged into Combeferre's bedroom and shoved the water in his face, dropping the dustpan on the bed before sitting down on it himself.  
"Well that's helpful..." Combeferre muttered sarcastically, flicking through the call log with ever-widening eyes.

"Twenty-six texts..." He said under his breath.  
"Why?" Enjolras questioned.

"Why am I asking?" Combeferre arched an eyebrow. "Because I'm curious, I want to know. Why else?" Combeferre continued.

Enjolras rolled his eyes.  
"Don't be pert"  
Only Enjolras would use a word like 'pert' and get away with it.

It was just so very...Enjolras.

"Why didn't YOU take me back tonight? Your car's working, right?" Enjolras paused, eyebrows furrowing as he thought."And also why did Grantaire text you so many times" He tacked on, as an afterthought.

Combeferre sighed long-sufferingly-it was a thing of his-before rattling off his reasons.  
"I had things to do after the meeting-"  
"Uhuh" Enjolras was most thoroughly unconcinvced.  
"-and I'm as in the dark as to why our illustrious friend-" Combeferre frowned at Enjolras's incredulous snort, but forged ahead "-called. He sent texts-twenty four to be exact- but they are all 'please come over' and 'answer your phone'" Combeferre finished.

Enjolras rolled his eyes.

"Probably drunk" He muttered.  
"I'm not so sure...his texts seem pretty coherent" Comberferre murmured.  
Combeferre's phone buzzed again, and the philosophy student sighed despondently.  
"Guess we'll find out now then"  
He pressed the answer and held the phone to his ear, rubbing his forehead wearily.-another habit of his.  
"'Taire, if you're drunk I swear I will-"  
"I need you to come over" The man's voice was tense and strained, full of something that Combeferre would almost call fear  
Combeferre met Enjolras's eyes worriedly.  
"Your texts said as much...you want me to come over, why?" Combeferre asked.

"If Apollo is there just put the bloody phone on speaker, 'Ferre, I don't have time for you to relay our fucking conversation just so he can be in the loop" The man snapped.

Combeferre winced before pressing a few buttons.  
"You're on speaker, what do you need me for? It's..." Combeferre glanced quickly at the clock.

"Christ, 'Taire, it's four in the morning. Jol has class in four hours and I need to be up in two. This couldn't wait?" Combeferre groaned.  
"'Ponine's hurt" Grantaire whispered, his voice thick with the kind of panic that had Combeferre and Enjolras sitting bolt upright, fear in their eyes.  
"How...hurt?" Combeferre asked.

Grantaire didn't answer.

"How hurt, 'Taire?"  
"She's not letting me close enough to check but a concussion and maybe broken ribs, I don't know. It's-" His voice cracked slightly. "It's bad"  
Enjolras and Combeferre swore under their breaths.

"Grantaire, keep her there, I'll call Joly-"  
Grantaire's bitter laugh interrupted Enjolras's command.

"That's the thing, Apollo" He sounded almost hysterical. "She refuses to go to Hospital and she threatened to leave if I involve Joly. She's halfway out the window now so I wouldn't put it past her...she doesn't want 'Vroche knowing" There was a muffled thump and a heavy sigh from Grantaire's end, as if he simply collapsed onto his sofa.

"You studied medicine, I could use your help"  
"Would she be alright with Doctor Eldrige?"  
"I-I don't...maybe? Call her, in case. Make sure she knows I just-I don't know what to do" Grantaire sounded defeated and broken and so unlike Grantaire that it tugged on Combeferre's heart.

Grantaire was loud and boisterous and confident, not quiet and unsure and confused.  
"Sure...ok, I'll be over there soon. Keep her calm and don't let her fall asleep, ok? Keep her awake" Combeferre insisted, stripping off his pyjamas and pulling on some clothes as quickly as possible.  
"Hurry" Grantaire pleaded. "Please" Combeferre nodded.  
"I'll be there in a few minutes."  
"I'm coming too" Enjolras butted in, nicking a pair of Combeferre's shoes from under his bed and shoving them on his sockless feet.  
Combeferre looked at his room mate curiously.  
"You don't have to Apollo" Grantaire's voice was soft and sad.  
"Eponine is one of us, it is no more than what I would do for any of you" Enjolras insisted.

"Ok" Grantaire exhaled. "I'll see you soon then, hurry" With that last word, Grantaire hung up the phone.  
In five minutes, the two men were dressed and were sprinting towards Combeferre's crappy car, possibly speeding as they drove to Grantaire's crappy apartment.

It was strange, Combeferre mused as his car roared down the darkened streets of paris.

Less than ten minutes ago, he was peacefully dreaming, thinking that everything was completely fine.

Now Combeferre couldn't even remember what his dream had been about.

* * *

**I had this awesome dream sequence for Eponine in the original write up of this chapter (which started off with Combeferre POV and actually described the journey to hospital) and wanted to add that in but now I can't. **

**=(**  
**It makes me sad. Azelma was really angry at Eponine because Eponine wasn't riverdancing to save Gavroche's voice from the aliens.**  
**I have actually known someone who had a dream like that, so no going on about me being silly.**

**Also, the greeks, according to Combeferre, have heads made of garlic. **

**Maybe I should do a deleted scenes for this story later on? Actually, not a bad idea! You can see all the missing bits I cut out and more character-y stuff (I had an awesome Azelma scene which I cut, which makes me sad) and I get to post the crap I wanted to fit in but couldn't!**  
**Tell me what you think!**  
**Love, the long absent BadWolf.**

**PS-Whovians...DAVID TENNANT AND BILLIE PIPER! Ten and Rose in the TARDIS, just as it should be! FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY SPECIAL WOOT WOOT!**  
**Seriously, it's like...awesomesauce. **  
**If any of you understood all of that...neato burrito. Fangirl at me sometime, it'll be great. XD**

**BWWW**


	5. V:One More Day

**It's been a while, but I've got, like, the next two chapters ready so I'll upload six immediately and seven when I finish eight (which shouldn't be too long).  
Sorry about the wait!**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE: All On My Own**

_One More Day All On My Own..._

The Musain was half-full with the usual crowd. Bahorel was lounging in a corner texting his latest conquest while bragging to a group of men, Joly and Bossuet were playing cards, although Joly seemed twitchier than usual (it was the eyebrow. You could always tell how nervous Joly was by how twitchy his left eyebrow was.) Enjolras was late (something Jehan couldn't find the energy to be shocked at) and Gavroche and Courfeyrac were absent.

So were Eponine and Marius, but Eponine hadn't turned up in a month and Marius only sporadically for short periods of time, so Jehan wasn't too surprised.  
Disappointed, certainly. Eponine and Marius were dear, good friends and their sudden lack of devotion to the cause and their sudden disappearance from his life made him sad but...

He wasn't surprised.

That only made him sadder.

Shaking off the depressing thoughts, Jehan dumped his customary pile of books and papers across from Grantaire, offering the man a slightly too-forced smile.

"Hey 'Taire" Jehan chirped cheerfully, trying so hard to act like he wasn't upset Marius and Eponine had failed to turn up (again) that his cheeks were beginning to hurt from the effort of smiling so brightly.

Grantaire mumbled a muffled 'hello' sullenly from across the table, his head buried in his arms and a half-empty beer bottle next to his elbow.

Grantaire drunk and sullen was a regular occurrence, so Jehan thought nothing of it.

What made Jehan double take, what was far more surprising was that Combeferre, sitting across from Grantaire, was drinking too.

Not much, not enough to do more than make him slightly buzzed, but some of the students already in the Musain's back room were looking at both men with something akin to fear in their eyes, as though any moment now fire would rain down from the skies and the Apocolypse would begin.

After all, Combeferre was drinking.

During daylight hours.

Before a meeting.

The only thing that could make the situation stranger would be for Enjolras to tap dance into the room in a pink, sequinned, frilly unitard and drink a beer before belting out 'I Will Always Love You' to Grantaire.

As if realising someone was thinking about him, a harried Enjolras stormed into the room in a flurry of wild hair and a flapping, crimson coat, flopping (not sitting, flopping. Gracelessly. Jehan was starting to put some stock in the other men's Apocalypse theory) next to Combeferre and eyeing their drinks enviously.

It was most unnerving.

"Want one Apollo?" Grantaire slurred, lifting his head slightly to study their Fearless Leader through glazed eyes.

Enjolras (for once not commenting on Grantaire's drunkeness) looked for a moment like he was seriously considering it.

That was even more unnerving.

The Apocalypse had to be coming, there was no other explanation.

In the end, he sighed despondently and shook his head.

"I shouldn't" He said firmly.

That wasn't, Jehan noted, a no, it was just him saying it was better for him not to have one.

That did not mean he did not want one.

No unitard or dancing or singing, but Enjolras considering drinking was close enough.

Gavroche perched atop Courfeyrac's shoulders entered next, the little boy leaning his arms on Courfeyrac's curls and wrinkling his nose down at Grantaire as he smelt the beer.

"I found out where 'Ponine's been" Courfeyrac said lightly by way of greeting.

Too lightly, too casually, and that malicious, angry gleam in his eye worried Jehan somewhat.

Still, nothing could have grabbed the attention of the three men at the table more certainly or quickly. Backs suddenly straight, eyes bright and eager, all three men stared intently at Courfeyrac, none of them attempting to hide the desperation on their faces.  
Jehan's suspicion was right-it had something to do with Eponine.

Something they felt guilty over.

Something they had done.

"You saw her?" Grantaire asked, sounding suddenly sober.  
"How was she?" Combeferre butted in.

Enjolras said nothing, just stared at Courfeyrac with stormy eyes, his hands clenching into fists as they rested on the tabled, his jaw set so tight Jehan could almost hear it crack.

"Caught Marius at dinner last night-she's needed at home at the moment, so she's been helping out there when not playing messenger pigeon for Marius and his girlfriend. He says she's alright"

The three men relaxed slightly.

Marius, Jehan mused, was not the best judge of when Eponine was 'alright'. He'd seen her so high she could barely walk and told Grantaire she was 'just fine'.

Lucky for Eponine, Grantaire hadn't believed him and tracked her down and taken her home.

Marius only noticed when there was something wrong with Eponine if you hinted at it for half an hour so obviously that you started to doubt the boy's mental faculties.  
"Good to know...did she mention coming back soon?" Combeferre wondered.  
"No. Said she'd be too busy for a while, lots to do. Apparently her mother is in trouble...?" Courfeyrac trailed off. Gavroche nodded from his perch on the man's shoulders.  
"'Ponine says the trial's in June" He chirped, obviously not fussed about his mother being in 'trouble'.

Serious trouble apparently-trial meant the 'trouble' was 'jail' and her absence meant they couldn't make bail.

An imprisoned Thernardier-good news for the people of Paris, bad news for Eponine. Very bad news.

No wonder she was busy.

"Oh a June trial, how delightful!The dream of every blushing middle-aged criminal" Grantaire said sarcastically, taking a swig from his beer before thumping it down on the table so viciously Jehan was honestly surprised it didn't smash.

Combeferre shot the man a silencing glare, which Grantaire pointedly ignored, before smiling a strained, kind smile up at Gavroche and asking gently;

"When did you last see Ponine 'Vroche?" Gavroche pouted.  
"Last week. She's been out a lot when I'm home, so 'Zel's been helping with homework. She's alright, not as fun as 'Ponine though" Gavroche wrinkled his nose in annoyance this time.  
"And she doesn't let me play on her phone" He grumbled.

Courfeyrac lifted Gavroche off his shoulder's and sent the boy over to bother Joly, the pre-med student immediately dealing Gavroche in for their game of 'Go Fish'.

Bossuet was probably too low on money for poker.

The unluckiest man in paris, Jehan thought wryly.

Jehan had said it once, he would say it again.

Many, many, _many_ times.

"So no sign of her?" Combeferre sighed.  
"It seems not" Grantaire grumbled angrily. "Not a hide or hair"  
Enjolras eyed the beer with a new sort of interest.  
"Actually, I might have one if you don't mind" Enjolras murmured quietly.

The room fell silent.

This wasn't right.

This wasn't even wrong. This was beyond wrong, venturing into the territory of 'did I wake up in an alternate universe today or something?'.

Jehan was about eighty percent sure someone, somewhere in the room had fainted.

He peered out the window on impulse to check for locust plagues, meteors or anything else that might explain the extremely odd behaviour of his friends.

Jehan also nearly checked Enjolras's satchel to make sure he wasn't carrying tap shoes or a unitard.

"There could be...perhaps...another reason why Eponine's been missing lately. Marius has been mooning over Cosette but Eponine's sudden and continued absence is...odd" Courfeyrac mused.  
Jehan looked curiously at Courfeyrac, whose eyes were gleaming maliciously, whose voice was casual and light with an undercurrent of steel and icy fire.

There was something going on here.

Something to do with Eponine and why Combeferre, Grantaire and Enjolras were acting so oddly.

Something to do with why Eponine had been missing since that night she took Marius to Cosette.

Courfeyrac met Grantaire's eyes, staring each other down, Grantaire opening his mouth to speak when-

"You're all being ridiculous" Bahorel drawled an undercurrent of steel hiding in his casual tone.  
All eyes turned to the usually happy idler, lounging on a chair looking nonchalant even while his eyes were blazing. "I don't care what happened-actually, that's a lie, I want to know why Eponine's been avoiding us like the plague and why Enjolras suddenly wants to have alcohol that isn't expensive champagne at New Years, but at the moment we have something else to worry about. So for God's sake stop sitting around like wet blankets and run the meeting we were supposed to start ten minutes ago"

Combeferre cast his eyes to the ground guiltily, Grantaire turned his head away.  
Bahorel returned to picking dirt from under his nails, his feet up on the table, his phone and his texting forgotten.

Enjolras took a deep breath and stood, his eyes hard and his chin jutting forward defiantly, the way it always did before he began his sermons and organising.

"You're right. Personal problems have no place here, when we are supposed to be discussing the betterment of our country. Now, are preperations for the protest next week underway? How are the leaflets going Feuilly..."

Balance was, thanks to Bahorel (who was smiling slightly smugly but no one would point that out), temporarily restored, Jehan noted with relief.

Mostly.

There was still a gaping hole, all too obvious, where Eponine should have been, but nothing could be done about that at the moment.

Jehan would just have to wait.

He'd have to wait for her to come back, wait to find out what had driven her away in the first place, wait for everything to return to their warped normal that Jehan relied on so heavily.

As Enjolras spoke, his words swirling around the back room and captivating the hearts of all the students who heard them, Jehan wished upon wish that he could go back in time, back to before Cosette when everyone was happy (well, as happy as they could be) and no one had a broken heart and everyone was where they should be-in the Cafe Musain, dreaming of a better tomorrow, a better life, a better world.

If wishes were horses though...

It was Cosette, Jehan decided. For good or ill, Marius and Cosette meeting had marked the end of an era in the Cafe Musain, the golden age that had begun the moment Courfeyrac dragged Marius (and, by extension, Eponine) to a meeting nearly four years ago.

A new era was dawning, a new chapter in the Amis was beginning, and it's first words were penned with confusion and anger and a little heartbreak.

Jehan could only hope the rest of the chapter was more cheerful in nature than those torturous first words.

* * *

"Please. For me?"  
Those three words, falling from Marius's lips as he stared deep into her eyes were her undoing, as always.

Those three words began her career as personal courier for love letters between one Cosette Fauchevelent and Marius Pontmercy.

Apparently, even though they didn't live in the fucking 1800's, letters were the only safe way And, because the universe was a complete and utter bitch, Eponine was their only safe channel of letter delivery, so Eponine was roped into carrying Marius's letters to Cosette every morning and her replies back to Marius every night.

The fact that it took her an hour each way apparently didn't matter, as long as the letters reached their destination.

Feuilly was right-it hadn't stopped with her taking Marius to the girl, it had only started.

It started and had been going for one month now and fucking hell Eponine was so tired.

Tired of waking up and escaping the house before her father heard her, tired of her mother being in prison, tired of finding places for Azelma and Gavroche to stay when her father was in a drunken rage, tired of running back and forth carrying letters that she wished were adressed to her.

Tired of everything.

Grantaire would be so pissed if he knew what she was doing, running around for Marius.

Grantaire...

Eponine viciously ground the butt of her cigarette under her heel and lit up another, shoving it roughly in between her lips.

A mistake.  
That's what he was-a mistake.

Just like the rest of them.

Letting people in was a mistake, Eponine should have realised that. Letting them get close enough to break down her walls was the biggest mistake she'd made since the day she let Marius help her up off the street curb and buy her an ice cream when she was nine.

Eponine groaned and tilted her head back, resting it against the brick wall.

Marius was late.

He was scarily punctual once upon a time, running by a strict routine, but now...

Now he was different.

It was, Eponine grimaced, that bloody Cosette.

It was almost like the moment he met Cosette, nothing else filled his mind.

As if what made him so utterly wonderful, so utterly MARIUS, was with Cosette whenever they were parted.

His wit, his keen intelligence, that lopsided smile and hearty laugh...

It was as if Cosette leeched away Marius's personality and left him a constantly smiling, dazed idiot.

It was as if, Eponine thought wryly, Marius was permanently stoned.

And maybe he was-love was a more potent drug than any other, no matter the consequences. Eponine knew this better than most.

Constantly going back for another fix, another dose of Marius and his smile and his eyes and his kind words, trying to wean herself off him but lacking the self control...

Her 'addiction' (or 'masochistic tendencies' as Azelma called it) was what led to her current predicament.

"Hey, Eponine!" Eponine looked up, a smile spreading across her face as Marius waved enthusiastically, attracting her attention.

All her anger disappeared as she looked at that wide smile of his, the way it lit up his face and danced in his eyes, and she pretened it was all for her.  
She folded her arms across her chest and cocked her head to the side, pushing herself off the wall only when Marius had jogged close enough to reach out and pull Eponine into a hug.

Epoinine laughed as he spun her around, her thin arms winding around his waist, relishing the weight of his arms on her shoulders for a second before he let go.

A drug indeed.

With just as much potential to kill her as heroin.

God she missed heroin.

No, bad Eponine. After all the time spent getting off it...

"Happy to see me Mister Marius?" She teased, ignoring that treachorous voice that told her this would all be _so_ much easier to deal with if she was high.

Marius laughed loudly and spun her around once more for good measure.  
"I'm always happy to see you 'Ponine" Marius grinned, all dancing eyes and sincere smiles, addicting her all over again.

A tiny part of Eponine told her that this high would be gone soon and she'd be crashing down to earth before long.

A louder part shouted at the tiny part to shut UP and let her enjoy this while she could, because any second now this beautiful illusion would be shattered when Marius mentioned his bloody-  
"Cosette wrote that she was so looking forward to this next letter...you must take it to her as fast as you can!" Marius urged, those beautiful, gentle eyes of his sparkling with excitement the way they only did for_ Cosette_, a soft smile on his face that appeared every time he mentioned the girl's name.

Eponine's smile faltered, for the briefest of seconds there was a tiny crack, but her smile didn't fall.  
Rather, it brightened as she stretched it wider across her face, trying hard to dazzle Marius so he wouldn't see the cracks underneath the shine.

He wouldn't, he never did, he never saw anything other than the pretty, perfect fairytale he wanted to see, and not much would shatter that illusion for him.

Eponine and her problems certainly wouldn't. They wouldn't even fracture it a little.

"Then there's no time to waste is there?" Eponine said cheerily, taking the letter from Marius's hand and tucking it in her pocket.

She had to leave. She had to leave before she wanted to cry and scream and ask why _her,_ why he couldn't love _her _and why he loved _Cosette,_ who was pretty and nice but so very _boring_ and _safe_ and just _too perfect_...

Marius's smile faltered slightly, his hand curling around her wrist as she turned to leave.

"Maybe...maybe we can have breakfast first? I feel like we haven't talked in so long, 'Ponine. I want to hear all about how the Amis are doing. I've been meaning to make it to a meeting but I just haven't found the time..." He sighed.  
Eponine shook her head, the ends of her hair whipping her in the face so hard it stung.

Breakfast with Marius would be heaven, but today of all days...

She couldn't.

Today, she just couldn't.

Not when her heart hurt like it did, not when she felt like she was going to cry at the slightest provocation.

"I'm afraid today I don't have much time" Eponine forced out a careless, carefree laugh.

"I have a lot to do and if I want to get it all done I'll have to drop this off quickly" Marius dropped her wrist sadly, disappointment etched all over that pretty face.

It tugged at Eponine's heartstrings, and it almost convinced her...  
"Oh" Marius murmured. Eponine inwardly steeled herself and forced her shoulders to shrug apologetically, even as she wished she could nod and say 'actually, that would be lovely but you're buying...'  
"Sorry Mister Marius, perhaps another time?" Fake cheer, fake smile, a fake half-laugh reassuring him that yes, she was alright she was just busy and maybe next time and all the other things Marius wanted to hear.

Marius perked up immediatley, an idea occurring to him that made those blue eyes light up again.  
"I'm going to the meeting tomorrow, maybe I'll see you there?"

He was all boyish excitement and eagerness, so caught up in what could happen that he didn't notice Eponine's flinch.

But there was nothing new about that was there?  
"If I can make it. I haven't been to many either, so much to do..." Eponine ran a gloved hand through her matted hair-she had to brush it soon or she'd never get the tangles out-and shrugged carelessly.

Marius didn't notice the strain, the slight shake, the way her eyes darted around, looking for an escape.

As much as Eponine loved Marius, loved _them,_ she couldn't go back to them, not now, not yet.

Not while it still hurt and burned and cut into her poor brusied heart like a knife over and over whenever she thought of _them_.

Maybe she'd never go back, maybe instead she would stay alone.

Alone was safe.

Alone she could deal with.

Alone was something she knew and understood and couldn't hurt more than what they'd done to her.

Nothing hurt like that except Marius's smiles as he thought of Cosette while Eponine wished he'd smile like that for her.

Before Marius could undo her all over again with those three words and those stupid blue eyes, Eponine had taken off down the crowded street, blinking tears from her eyes as she thought of the men who she had made her family, the men she couldn't see out of shame and anger and betrayal and disappointment, no matter how much she missed them.

They knew the truth now, they had too.

All the things she'd tried to hide had been bared in front of them that night, all the pity she'd never wanted shone in their eyes.

Grantaire had called her name, quietly, reaching out with a gentle hand and she'd snapped.

She'd begged, she'd pleaded-no hospitals. Please no hospitals, please mother of god no hospital.

It was all she asked of them.

But they'd held her down and shoved that sleeping pill down her throat and when she woke up her father signed her out anyway.

At least Marius didn't know.

She still had Marius, in a way. There's was one person apart from her brother and sister who she could talk too and hope for.

But one wasn't enough.

Eponine had a taste of a better life, a life where people loved her and cared and made her feel wanted and valuable.

Made her feel loved.

She didn't know how she could go back to the cold and dark that was just a distant memory, didn't know how she could deal with that again.

But she had to try.

There was no way she could face them now, not after what they'd done, not with what they found out.

Not anymore.

* * *

One whole month.

One month and no Eponine.

Grantaire had thought he'd heard his window click open the other night-it had just been his imagination.

The day before, he'd thought he'd seen her at the protest, wide blue eyes in a too-thin face looking up at them wistfully, mournfully.

He blinked and she was gone, melting into the sea of cheers and faces and shadows like she was never there to begin with.

Tonight even Marius was at the meeting, but no Eponine, no waif in a newsboy cap and a too-big leather jacket pulling faces at Courfeyrac and tickling Gavroche.

No impersonations of Enjolras, no stealing his beer, no nothing.

Just nothing.

There was Marius, chatting away like he hadn't abandoned them and if their prodigal son returned home where was their stray cat?

Where was Eponine?

Strays always went their own way...maybe she'd found a new home? A better one?  
But what, Grantaire wondered, was better than this-her friends who cared and worried and took care of her brother and let her crash at theirs when she had nowhere to stay.

Hell, they'd known her home life was bad but...

Grantaire closed his eyes, remembering frantic, far-away voice of Azelma Thernardier as she told him over phone that Eponine needed looking after but please if you value her life no hospitals, please don't fucking take her to a hospital.

"Don't take her to a hospital. Unless she's dying just-you don't understand, you-you can't" The girl had choked out.

Grantaire had promised her, but then Eponine had rolled in through his window covered in burises and sticky red staining her skin, looking broken and sad and so fucking terriffied-

She'd begged for no hospitals too.

She'd begged and pleaded and he'd promised.

Was that why she wasn't coming back? He broke a promise?  
Was it because he'd held her down as they'd given her the sleeping pill, straddling her waist and pinning her arms above her head even as she cried for him not to hurt her please no, 'Grantaire' turning into 'Father' and 'Sir' somewhere while Combeferre tried to shove that pill down her throat?

Grantaire squeezed his eyes shut against the pain.

He'd wanted to help.

He had been prepared for anger, for yelling and screaming and burning passion that was bright and hot and so very Eponine.

He could deal with cruel, hot words and harsh, loud voices and spitting and hissing and even a slap.

He'd had that all before, he'd matched that anger in it's ferocity when it was underserved and sat back and taken it because she'd needed a punching bag like he had needed his alcohol.

He had not been prepared for her disappearing and not coming back, for the painful silence, the cold shoulder that was so unlike anything of Eponine he'd ever experienced in the years they'd known each other that it hurt more than the cutting words ever could.

Her eyes when she woke...

They'd looked the same as they had when she came to him, bruised and battered.

They'd looked afraid.

She was afraid of him.

She felt betrayed by him.

She didn't want to see him anymore.

Not him, not Combeferre or Joly or Courfeyrac.

She didn't want to see anyone.

Grantaire wound his fingers into his hair and collapsed back onto his bed.

Thursday was when she'd scratch at his window at eleven and they'd watch bad horror movies and Grantaire, as always, would put up a fuss about her drinking but she'd remind him that she'd drunk him under a table at fourteen so legality shouldn't really matter now and he'd give in with a wry smile.

Grantaire stayed up until four in the morning, as he had every Thursday for the past four weeks, just waiting.

She didn't come.

He wasn't surprised, but it still fucking hurt.

* * *

**Oh, there be more angst! Angst galore is coming people!**  
**And I mean it-there's, like, two more angsty chapters before I get back to niceness. **  
**And then more angst. **  
**I like angst. **

**Until next time!**  
**BadWolf**


	6. VI:Only In My Mind

**More Angst! Are you really surprised? I mean, seriously, I'm an angsty person. **

**And so is little Eponine. XD  
Oh, and I'm going to start my oneshot series, moments from this story that didn't make the cut. So there will be more 'Parnasse and Azelma will feature, and there'll be angsty scenes that I didn't include and things that will make this make more sense. STORIES FROM THE CAFE MUSAIN PEOPLE! I'm posting the first chapter-an Azelma drabble-tonight. Enjoy!**

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX: Only In My Mind**

_It's only in my mind..._

Cosette was waiting.

It was late, too late for her to be awake, far too late for her to be outside, especially now, after what happened at the Plumet house and her father would be so terribly angry if he found out but...

but she couldn't sleep.

And she was curious.

Very curious.

So she stood in the garden and watched and she waited.

She wondered.

Their new house-not as pretty as their Plumet house-was a thin townhouse with not much of a garden and a cast-iron fence lined by rose bushes.  
That's where the letters were left, where Cosette left her replies.

Spiked onto the rosebush for the mysterious messenger to pick up.

Cosette's thoughts flew back to that first night, to Eponine, the 'best person in the world' who had brought Marius to her and saved her from being robbed.

Her memories of those early years in a foster home were hazy, but she remembered cruelty well enough.

Cruelty and a girl called 'Ep' who flaunted her wealth and was often mean-spirited and selfish and spoilt...but who gave Cosette cast-off dolls when she 'grew tired of them' and sometimes let her play with her and her sister when her parents were out.

If this Eponine was the same...

There-a shadow.

A slip of a shadow, darting down the street quick as a cat, slinking to her Rosebush and-

Eponine.

It was the same girl from that first night a month ago, but was it the same girl from her childhood?  
Did that girl even exist?  
Cosette hadn't thought about her at all until that thin-faced, mournful-eyed creature in a too-big jacket and too-short skirt screamed and scared away that gang.

She looked worse than she had that night-something Cosette hadn't thought possible.

She was paler and thinner, her eyes impossibly wider and her features impossible sharper.

"If Marius makes me stay for four hours again to hear him drafting that bloody Lark's love letter I will wring his neck. And her neck. And everyone's necks. Necks will be wrung" She rambled under her breath, tugging Cosette's letter off the rosebush.

Cosette's eyes widened.

Was it...

Could it truly be...

Lark.  
She'd been called the 'Lark'.

But she'd never sung.

Cosette only remembered cold and dark and fear and the occassional kindness of a spoiled little girl and being taken away.  
"Ep?" She whispered breathlessly, testing the long-unused name on the air.

Eponine looked up, narrowing her eyes and peering right at Cosette, but she shook her head, convincing herself she hadn't heard anything.  
"Need sleep. Sleep, a warm bath and some dinner. Or lunch. Or breakfast. What do you call your first meal of the day when you're having it at night? Or morning...what fucking time is it anyway?"

The girl melted off into the shadows once more, like she was never there to begin with.  
A phantom.

A ghost.

The echo of a memory of a happy, pretty child who'd looked down her nose at Cosette but tossed her a doll and told her to play.

She looked older.  
Sadder.

Cosette wondered what unfortunate fate had befallen those she had lived with once upon a time as she slipped indoors.

She wondered what had happened to make the happy little girl, so hazy in her memory, so hard and harsh and bitter.

And who, apparently, swore like a sailor.

Maybe, if she was such good friend's with Marius, Cosette could find out.

Maybe Cosette could regain a piece of her long-lost past.

Maybe...

Maybe she could do more than give soup and spare change and knit and sew things for the hopeless.  
Maybe she could truly, really, give one of them hope.

It was a novel idea, a good idea, an idea God would approve of, surely, even if Papa would not.

So Cosette stole into the kitchen and wrapped up some scones in tea towel.

She tied it to the rosebush and on the rosebush stuck a note.

_Dear Eponine._

_Enjoy your breakfast.  
And thankyou_

_Sincerely, Cosette._

From what Marius had told her, Eponine hated charity, hated pity, was proud and wilful and stubborn.

A thankyou gift, however, was not something you could refuse so easily when it was deserved.

Either war, whether Eponine was the 'Ep' from her childhood or not, the girl needed to eat more, and Cosette had plenty of food to spare that she was all-too-willing to share.

* * *

"And welcome back to Red and Black Radio! I am Barry Cade" Courfeyrac's voice crackled through her earphones.  
"And I am Pat Ria" There was Bahorel's voice, smooth as silk and dark like chocolate even over radio through all the static.  
"And we're here to update you on all the things the papers can't! Now...let's see...where to begin" Courfeyrac as 'Barry Cade' mused.

Papers rustled in the background, Eponine could almost see him sorting through a pile of notes for something good.  
"There is quite a long list" Courfeyrac murmured, more to himself than to the 'listeners'.  
"A long, long list. He's been busy this week" Bahorel laughed.  
"Yes he has been Pat! Yes he has...christ, he has been busy. How can one guy-oh, this one's good" Courfeyrac cleared his throat.  
"As you all know, the taxes were raised-"  
"Again" Bahorel butted in.  
"Yes, again, quite recently. This money was promised to the Welfare department. I was shocked-Our Lord and Master caring about the common folk? A miracle!"  
"Too good to be true"  
"You're certainly right Pat, FAR too good to be true. The money raised, as our intrepid investigative journalist Mr Cask discovered, has not gone into the welfare system for our downtrodden listeners, but too-get this-"  
"Get what?"  
"I'm getting there Pat"  
"Well get there faster Barry"  
"You-anyway, where was I...oh yes! Money meant for the welfare system, meant to go into programs to provide the homeless with homes, the foodless with food, the cold with blankets and such similar...stuff, actually went towards-ahem-drum roll please...the purchase of a tropical island in the pacific!"  
"Well maybe that's his idea of giving the homeless a home-he's buying one for them. An island getaway complete with a resort? They'll be fed, clothes, homed, blanketed..."  
"That's far too generous for our leader"  
"You're quite right"  
"So if you're wondering why you're _still_ starving, homeless and with no blanket, it's because that money went to the purchase of an island"  
"Wish it was in the Bermuda triangle"  
"He's stupid, Pat, but not that stupid. Moving on...oh yes! The recent debacle with the extortion of the Health Care minister, Cask and Quill have informed us that-"

Eponine laid her head back and let Courfeyrac and Bahorel's voices wash over her, cheerfully shaming the President, joyfully informing all those willing to listen of his wrongdoings.

Illegally of course, the Censorship Laws comdemning media that condemned the Government had been in place for two years now.

They couldn't find Red&Black though-Eponine and Feuilly had, with their combined technology know-how, put in a lot of work to stop the transmitting signal from being found.

"-And now for our weekly speech from Mr Sun"

"People of France!" Enjolras's voice was bright and impassioned, full of conviction and Eponine could almost see him-all golden hair and bright eyes, that ridiculous red coat of his...

Eponine switched the portable radio off, tucking it under her pillow.

A six weeks had passed, and it still hurt too much.

Hearing Enjolras speak triggered the memory of him barking at Grantaire to 'hold her _still_ dammit!' as his own hands tightened around her calves.

That led to the ghost of the weight of Grantaire on her waist, holding her wrists, while Combeferre shoved that pill down her throat.

They'd tried it secretly first, Eponine remembered, with water.  
Joly had done that once, when Gavroche was ill and Eponine wouldn't sleep until his fever was down.

She had refused to speak to Joly for weeks.

She only took water if she could see people pouring it now, if she was sure that it hadn't been tampered with.

So they had held her down.  
They held her down and shoved it down her throat, familiar faces morphing into her father, into Brujon, into the faceless men her father pawned her off too when they were _just _desperate enough.

She could still smell the beer on those men's breaths, feel their heavy hands pawing at her, see their eyes-dark and greedy, squinting at her, _leering_ at her.

They wanted to help, part of Eponine was beginning to accept that, but they hadn't helped at all.

They'd made things worse.

God, her father's anger when he heard she was in hospital...

Eponine couldn't face them.

They knew now, they had to. They had to know everything.

Eponine couldn't face them but she couldn't keep away.  
So she went to the protests and stood in the back, hid in the shadows as they left the Musain, listened to the radio and wished she was at Joly's listening to it with Musichetta.

But she wasn't.

She was in her flat at the Gorbeau house, on a ratty bed in a room of peeling paint with her eyes shut tight against the tears she so desperately wanted to cry.

Tears she couldn't let herself cry.

She was Eponine Thernardier, and she would be damned if she cried where someone could hear her.

Eponine inhaled, trying to remind herself how to breathe as she sat up and looked around her room, wishing Marius was with her, smiling at her and telling her she was beautiful.

Cosette was beautiful.

Cosette, Eponine smiled ruefully as she caught site of her reflection in the grimy mirror hanging on her wall, was delicate and lovely and kind and blonde...

Maybe if she was blonde...

A thought burst into Eponine's head, chasing away tarnished memories of friends she couldn't stay _with_ but couldn't stay away _from._

Eponine darted off her bed, rumaging in her drawers for the dye she'd bought on a whim how long ago...a month? Two months?

Eponine looked at herself, looked at her pale, thin face and her long, brown hair.

Her pride and joy.

Her one vanity was her hair-thick and chocolate-brown, soft and pretty.

Not as pretty as Cosette's, Eponine bitterly reflected as she turned the package of dye over in her hands.

She thought of Marius, waxing poetical about Cosette's hair that was woven from sunlight, that shone.  
Eponine just absorbed. Eponine and her stupid dark hair absorbed light, sucked it up kept it for her own.  
Maybe Marius would look at her if she was blonde, like Cosette.

Maybe she'd be beautiful then.

A pair of sad blue eyes, too large for so small a face, stared back at her, full of hope and sorrow and a 'maybe' that spurred her to disappear into the bathroom and start to dye her hair...

* * *

It was Feuilly who saw her.

Actually saw her.

Grantaire had been drunk the night before-really, truly drunk, drunk in a way that he hadn't been for a while.

As Feuilly had taken him home, the man had mumbled things, about 'seeing' Eponine.

Feuilly had no doubt Grantaire-when sober-had seen Eponine a few times. The girl may be doing her best to avoid them (for reasons that remained a mystery to him) but she would not let go of them completely.

Not. Ever.

Feuilly understood Eponine, understood that when you made your own family, you didn't give them up easy, if at all. It was too hard.

No matter what you told yourself about cutting ties, if even one thread remained you'd cling to it.

You'd be desperate for second-hand dregs of news, watch from a distance, pretend not to care when your insides burned to know what they were doing, how they were...

If they missed you...

So Feuilly was not surprised that Grantaire had caught glimpses of the girl he'd practically adopted.

Feuilly almost saw her too, when he left the Musain some nights.

For a moment, she'd be half-visible in the shadows of an alley.  
For a second, murky yellow street lamp and pale moonlight would illuminate paler skin and huge eyes, contrasting so violently against long dark hair.

He'd blink, she'd be gone, melting back into the shadows of the streets she called home.

But this...

This wasn't a snatched moment almost from a dream, this wasn't a glimpse of long hair whipping around a corner, cigarette smoke and a too-big leather jacket, a newsboy cap and huge blue eyes.

This was, honest to God, 'Ponine, too vivid to be anything but real and not ten yards from him.

Feuilly didn't dare step forward from his spot in the shadows, instead he waited, watched, eyes travelling over her, looking for a sign of anything that meant something was terribly wrong.

High-heeled ankle boots, he noticed first, and ripped fishnet tights with black shorts over the top.

Two tank tops-the blue one ripped and torn to show the white-and so many necklaces and bracelets Feuilly was wondering how she hadn't fallen over from the sheer weight of them.

Her nails were painted black-inky black-contrasting against skin so white it was almost painful to look at.

But her hair...

Her hair was a filthy blonde colour, dirty blonde, ash blonde. It wasn't the cloud of milk chocolate he remembered, it was stringy and ashy and cheap.

When had she dyed it?  
Why had she dyed it?  
Eponine's dark hair was her vanity.

Cosette was blonde, Feuilly remembered grimly. Marius had mentioned (so many times it was painful) that Cosette was blonde.

Was that why Eponine had destroyed the one part of herself she treasured?

Eponine took the cigarette out of her mouth and exhaled heavily, smoke curling into the night air, before closing those huge eyes and tipping her head back against the brick wall, exposing part of her neck not covered by endless necklaces.

There was a discolouration, made all the more vivd and clear on that winter-white skin.

A blossoming mark in lurid green and sickly yellow, roughly the shape of a man's thumb.

Now that Feuilly looked-really looked-he noticed similar hand-shaped marks on her wrist, half-hidden under bracelets that jangled with every move she made.

Somehow, dusk had turned into night, the darkness curling around Eponine and settling on her like a second skin, mixing with the smoke from her cigarette and the heady smell of despair that clung to everyone in the slums.

In a pale circle of light from the street lamp, Eponine smoked three more cigarettes before finally shivering and going home.

Feuilly followed her example, question cartwheeling through his mind, ideas tangling themselves up in complicated knots as he wondered-not for the first time-why she'd left, what had been done.

What could be done to get her back.

In his musty little apartment, Feuilly wondered and wished and thought of a girl in the light of a street lamp, all alone, cutting herself off from everyone and tried not to think of how long it would take her to finally break.

* * *

** MIGHT post seven tonight if I feel nice enough. Depends.**

**-BWWW**


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